


one day robots will cry

by gottabewhatomorrowneeds



Category: Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys - My Chemical Romance (Album), The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys (Comic)
Genre: Blood and Gore, Canonical Character Death, Dehumanization, Gen, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Nonbinary Party Poison (Danger Days), Nonbinary Show Pony (Danger Days), Origin Story, Other, Pornodroids (Danger Days), Trans Kobra Kid (Danger Days), Underage Drinking, everyone is there but they’re not big parts of the story, feel like they one with their own set of tags, fun ghoul is a BASTARD he’s an absolute Bitch, if anything else needs to be tagged let me know!!!, lore about the analog/helium wars, not a huge plot point but he’s trans., nothing goes into Huge Detail but just fyi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-19
Updated: 2020-03-19
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:14:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 35,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22865410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gottabewhatomorrowneeds/pseuds/gottabewhatomorrowneeds
Summary: It takes a bit of time on Jet Star’s part, but the realization still stings.Party Poison can’t cry.
Comments: 26
Kudos: 58





	one day robots will cry

Fun Ghoul is starting yet another bar fight. Jet Star wishes he was surprised, but Ghoul is an angry person who’s unfortunately also an adrenaline junkie, and loves to get a high off of physical confrontation. He’s drunk out of his mind, which of course only makes him angrier- though, it doesn’t take much to get him drunk. Jet Star did try to stop him, considering he was only fourteen with an obviously poor constitution, but there’s no stopping Ghoul when he sets his eyes on something.

Jet Star himself is a little tipsy, though not much, since Jet doesn’t even like drinking all that much. For one, it takes a lot of alcohol for him to feel a buzz, so it’s economically not good for him. Two, he’s not really a fan of ‘losing control’ of himself like Ghoul is- he doesn’t like waking up the next morning not knowing what happened (or, possibly getting in fights he won’t remember and waking up missing a few teeth). And three, he loathes getting drunk in public for the same reason as number two. 

Jet Star simply watches as Fun Ghoul bites some guy’s arm. Sure, he could try and break up the fight, but last time he did that, the guy Ghoul was beating up tried to attack him, and then Ghoul _joined_ him in attacking Jet. Fuck you, Ghoul.

There’s a couple to the left of him, an androgynous person with fiery red hair and a man with a slicked back mullet. They were speaking to each other quietly as the fight went on, and Jet Star paid them no mind as he focused on the fight.

Ghoul bit the man’s finger, hard, and the man howled in pain. Jet winced at the sight of spilled blood as Ghoul raked his nails against the guy’s face. Ghoul’s got freakishly sharp nails and teeth; what a freaky rat bastard. 

There was a shout next to him that caught his attention. It wasn’t a cheer for Ghoul, which the crowd had begun to chant, because people in the desert loved to see a good fight, loved the sight of spilled blood and bruised skin.

He glanced back at the couple next to him. The greasy man had planted himself on top of the other, right on their lap. He was very obviously trying to make out with them, and one of his hands was drifting down to their waistband.

The androgynous guy wasn’t having it. The guy caught their lips and forced a kiss on them, and immediately bent his head back. His lip was bleeding.

“You motherfucker!” he shouted. “Did you just bite me?”

Blood dribbled down their face. “Get the hell off me!”

“Oh please, you fucking whore! You like this shit! You’re made to like this, slut!”

He shoved their head against the bar table and leaned down again, his other hand not pushing down on their neck to keep them down was moving towards their pants. The other squirmed beneath them, and Jet Star has seen enough.

“Hey, asshole!”

Jet Star grabbed the man by the neck and yanked him off. The man stumbled back and actually growled at Jet Star. “What the hell!?”

“Dude, the dude your trying to fuck doesn’t wanna fuck. They said no.”

The redhead wiped their mouth and the man straightened, his eyes blazing. “This isn’t your business, fuck face. Leave me and my bitch alone.”

“I’m not your bitch!”

Jet Star sighed. “Come on, man, I don’t wanna fight. Just leave them alone and I won’t kick your ass.”

“You? Kick my ass? Get out of here, killjoy wanna be.” The man shoves Jet Star roughly, planting his hands on his chest. Jet Star barely moves an inch backwards. Still, the man seems unperturbed and grabs the redhead’s wrist before whispering sweetly, “C’mon sugar. Let’s ditch this place so I can really make you scream.”

Alright.

Jet Star may only be sixteen years old, but he sure as hell knows how to fight, and how to fight well. He’s a hulking figure of pure muscle, and he’s been fighting ever since he was born in this desert. He knows a few things.

He snags a bottle off the bar counter and hits the guy across the head with it. The glass shattered and scratched up the man’s face, causing him to scream. The man lets go of the redhead and stumbles back, blood dripping down his face.

“You little shit!” He glances around. “Mad Dog! Coyote! Get your asses over here!”

Jet Star glances at the men that emerge from the crowd, unimpressed at the sight. Yeah, sure, they’re pretty stacked, but he bets their agility is the same as a cactus. Also, those are some lame ass names.

The redhead doesn’t even say a word as they start swinging. Their fist connected to one of the lackey’s jaw and a sickening crack was heard. Jet Star took that as a cue and immediately began to throw fists at the closest asshole.

The crowd around Fun Ghoul begins to trickle over to Jet Star. The redhead’s a pretty good fighter, so it seemed- they lacked strength but they sure had speed. If Jet had given them a bit more time, they probably would have been able to fend for themself against that first asshole.

“Hey!” He hears Ghoul shout. “You’re starting a fight without me? ASSHOLE!”

Jet Star pauses momentarily in time to watch Fun Ghoul fling himself at the other lackey, Coyote. The two go toppling to the ground as they wrestle, and oh, fuck. Ghoul just shoved his nails down the guy’s throat.

The red head slams Mad Dog’s face on the bar counter, and Jet hears a terrifying crack. The man tries to pull himself together but they don’t let up. They snag one of the metal stools from underneath the couple that was making out next to Jet a little while ago and just as they guy began to lift himself off the counter, they swung the seat like a bat and the man crumpled to the ground.

He’s pretty sure he just saw a tooth fall out of the guys mouth.

The ringleader manages to score a well timed punch on him while Jet was watching. Jet quickly shoots out a leg and kicks the man to the ground, sweeping him off his feet. The man stumbled back and hit the ground hard, looking a bit dazed.

The red head joined in on the pummeling, kicking the ringleader in the ribs. The man let out a thick cough, and the redhead smiled.

Ghoul had taken out Coyote, whose entire face was scratched to pieces. The man was unconscious, lying in a pool of blood, and there was this terrifying yet familiar gleam of feral glee in Ghoul’s eyes as he wiped his bloodied fingers on his pants.

The red head placed their foot over the man’s throat, nearly crushing it. They leaned down and gave the man a grin, obviously excited. “Aw, you don’t like it when I play rough back?”

The ringleader tries to claw at them, but they just relieve their foothold on his neck and kick them in the head. “I never liked it either.”

There’s a roar of cheers that clog Jet Star’s senses. Clapping echoes in the club, nearly drowning the music (which is saying something, given how the bass line has been shaking the nightclub like they were in the midst of a dust storm). 

The ringleader’s clearly unconscious, and the redhead just sighs before glancing up at Jet Star. Jet Star smiles at them, and that seems to prompt them to speak. “Listen, if you’re wanting a reward for saving me or some shit, tough luck.” 

That was not what Jet was expecting. “Wha- no! That’s not at all what we want!”

“No?”

“No!”

The redhead glances at the crowd. There’s a couple of fools yelling, demanding that they get fought with next. They motion for Jet Star to follow them. “C’mon.”

Jet and Ghoul follow them outside, slipping through the crowd and out the doors. The music’s dulled as the night sky becomes visible. The redhead gives them a pointed look.

“You don’t want a reward?”

“No?”

“No money?” Jet shakes his head. “No carbons, no food, nothing?” They pause. “No sex?”

“No!” Jet smacks Ghoul’s arm as he begins to object. “No, dude, we don’t want anything.”

They just kind of stare at him. Jet Star isn’t sure what to think. “Oh, okay. Call me Party Poison. What’s your name, anyway?”

“I’m Jet Star, and that rat’s Fun Ghoul!”

“Fuck you!” Fun Ghoul hits him back, twice as hard. “I just helped your ass in a bar fight!”

The redhead relaxes a bit at the sight, before a perplexed look dawned on their features. “Jet Star and Fun Ghoul, huh? Like those killjoys Dr. D’s always broadcasting about?”

Jet Star puffs his chest a bit, and Ghoul has a smug smile curling on his lips. They’ve been working together under Dr. D for a couple of months now. It used to just be Jet Star delivering the doctor’s information, but after Fun Ghoul tried to rob him on a job, the two became best friends and worked together under Dr. D’s guidance to become full-fledged killjoys. It’s a fun story to tell at parties, but now’s not the time.

“Yeah, that’s us.”

Party Poison watches them for a moment, appearing thoughtful. “My brother and me, we broke out of the city not long ago. I’ve been hearing lots of stories about killjoys. They’re supposed to help people, right?” Jet Star nods. “Well then, think I can ask a favour from ya?”

Now that Jet Star thinks about it, Poison’s voice was nearly garbled by their thick Battery City accent. It makes their voice sound strangely rough despite the silky texture to their words. 

Fun Ghoul raises a brow. “Try us.”

Party Poison blows their hair out of their face. They seem nervous, but they keep a calm disposition despite the anxiety in the way their foot keeps tapping. “My brother likes to race, to get money? He races a lot on the tracks out by Zone Three. Last week, there was this big race that happened, but he never came back.”

Party Poison remains quiet. They appear somber. Jet Star waits to see if he has anything more to add, trying to ignore the ache in his chest. He remembers when he had an older brother who kicked around all over the zones, and how any lapse of silence would cause Jet to assume the worst until the worst finally happened. His cocky brother died in a huge fire fight, just the way he wanted.

“I can’t get up there myself to look for him. No one will lend me a ride. So would you be willing to give me a hand? You don’t have to look for him or anything, but could you give me a ride to the tracks?”

Jet and Ghoul don’t even look at each other. They nod in unison, and Jet Star gives Poison a small smile. “Totally! And we’ll definitely help you look for him. What’s his name?”

“Kobra Kid.”

Familiar. He does race quite a bit, and he usually does pretty well. He hears about him sometimes in Dr. D’s broadcasts. 

“Well, let’s head out!” Jet Star jangles his keys. “I mean, no time to waste, right?”

Party Poison doesn’t smile, but they seem close to it. 

-

The ride is quiet. Jet Star kicks Ghoul to the backseat, who makes a show of complaining even though he doesn’t actually care. Party Poison sits up front, staring out the window with a blank expression. Jet Star keeps the music low but steady to avoid the inevitable awkward silence.

Mad Gear and the Missile Kid’s playing at the moment. _House of Wolves_ blares through the speakers. For Australians, they sure know how to rock.

“So, are you the younger or older sibling?” Jet decides to ask. He’s curious.

There's a small lag. “Older. Kobra’s fourteen. I’m nineteen.”

“Fourteen? And he races?”

“He likes the thrill.” Party Poison keeps their eyes on the horizon, scanning diligently. They’re only in Zone Five at the moment. “He’s not very talkative until you get to know him, but god damn, that kid’s such a fucking daredevil. If there’s a chance of him breaking his neck, he’s absolutely enamoured with it.”

“How long have you guys been in the desert?”

“Six months.”

“And no crew?”

“Just me and him.”

Hm. A silence passes between them. Jet checks his mirror to see what Ghoul’s doing. Rat boy’s been weirdly quiet.

He’s knitting. Jet and Ghoul found some yarn and needles during a dumpster diving adventure a month ago, and Ghoul’s obsessed with it. Some old woman Dr. D knows taught him how to knit, and he’s been trying to make a blanket. He likes it because it keeps his hands busy and his mind empty.

“Got any music preferences?”

Party Poison blinks, almost as if they’re surprised. They glance at the radio, then back at Jet. “Not really. I haven’t listened to enough music to have a taste.”

“I like metal myself,” Jet begins, smiling as he reaches for the dial. “But I got a feeling you’ll like this song.”

The volume cranks as the beginning of Mad Gear and the Missile Kid’s _Zero Percent_ blasted.

-

The drive was spent just jamming out to various artists Jet Star thought Party Poison would like. It was so much fun, watching someone listen to a song for the first time, that it seemed like everybody forgot what the mission was.

Until they pulled up to Crash Queen Crossroads.

Party Poison instantly sobers. By now, the sun was dipping down and the moon loomed overhead. Party Poison’s expression was illuminated by the sun’s dying light, causing their hair to appear as if it was on fire. An unreadable mask covered their features.

Jet Star pulled for a stop. The music halted, and silence echoed across the empty air.

“Thanks for getting me here,” Party Poison begins, quietly. “I guess I’ll head out.”

“What? Alone?”

Poison frowns. “Yeah?”

Fun Ghoul sticks his head between the two of them, glaring at Party Poison. “Damn, how heartless do you think we are? Bro, we’re gonna search for your brother with you whether you like it or not.”

There’s a pause. Party Poison blinks a few times, staring at Fun Ghoul as if uncomprehending. If Jet Star angled his eyes at just the right place, it almost appeared that Party Poison looked ready to cry.

“Well, I’m not gonna turn down help.”

They leave the car and begin to follow the track. Crashes happen all the time when cars are barreling down the uneven and rocky terrain at breakneck speeds. But there’s so many people that enter these sorts of contests that if one person fails to make it back to the finish line, they’re hardly noticed.

There’s been races since Kobra Kid’s last appearance, so they can’t really just follow every set of tracks they find. Party Poison paces frantically about the track, clearly growing more and more nervous as time continues.

A thick glob of ink hampers their view. The time is nightfall now, and the moon casts no true light. Jet Star’s trying to find a way to gently suggest that they wait until morning to continue the search.

Party Poison’s becoming frantic, and has moved out of sight. Ghoul’s poking about at a couple of lizard carcasses, probably thinking about eating them. Whatever. If he wants to contract some sort of deadly disease, Jet Star’s long since given up in deterring natural selection.

There’s a terrified, pained cry that pierces the icy silence. Party Poison shouts after that, “Kobra!”

Ghoul and Jet sprint towards the source, trying to find the two. Ghoul nearly slips down a small ravine as they chase after the siblings. 

They skid to a stop right in front of the wreckage. The car is utterly destroyed, all the metal twisted and splintered like wood. It has flipped upside down and probably rolled a few times before landing. Glass shards littered the sand, reflecting the moonlight and creating the illusion of glitter.

As they creep closer, they see a lanky figure lying prone on the ground. Blood is pooled around them, some patches a deep red, having dried into the sand, and others looking fresh. The kid was sporting a couple of nasty gashes across his arms and head.

He blinked up at the others, his eyes hazy. Party Poison’s leaning over them, blood seeping into their jeans. “Kobra, bro, can you hear me?”

“Loud and clear.” His voice is sandpaper rough, and he cracked a bit from disuse. Party Poison gives a sigh of relief.

“He’s pinned under the car. We can’t move him unless we move this car.”

Ghoul’s eyes light up. “Yo, we have a blowtorch in the trunk. We could melt the car parts around him and get him out.”

“And risk burning his fucking muscles off? No.” Jet Star shut that down, knowing none of them were steady enough or advanced in fire techniques to pull off that stunt. “Well, there’s three of us here. We can try and push the car up off him? We wouldn’t be able to pull it off for long, but surely…?”

Poison cracked their knuckles. “It wouldn’t hurt to try.”

All three began to push against the car. It takes a few minutes and a couple of tries, but they have enough strength between them to push the car up a couple of inches. Ghoul drops his weight, nearly making them drop the car, but since he wasn’t actually carrying much, they’re able to hold on. 

Ghoul drags Kobra Kid out from under the car, and Kobra grunts with every slightest movement. As soon as his feet leave the area of the car, the two of them drop the car and listen to the frame rattle and screech. A few pieces of metal manage to fall off completely.

Poison drops to Kobra’s side, assessing the damage. “Dehydration. Malnourishment. Developing heat stroke. Broken ribs for sure. Broken leg, the tibia bone. Knee trauma. Definitely whiplash.” They rotate Kobra’s head, their touch gentle. “Head trauma. Got some nasty bruises, too.”

“There’s a hospital right by the Hotel Oblivion,” Jet Star quietly informs. “He needs better treatment.”

Party Poison rubs their cheeks. Their face is red, and they look close to tears. He can’t tell if they’re from relief or terror. “Can you…”

“Come on boys, we gotta mend some bone!” Ghoul cheers and immediately moves to pick up Kobra Kid. Jet Star stops him, knowing Ghoul has no concept of a gentle touch, and he and Poison lock eyes.

They pick up Kobra, who weighs the same as Jet Star imagines a couple of grapes would. Fun Ghoul opens the car doors for them, clearly annoyed.

The car ride is quiet.

-

The hospital happily accepts them. Kobra gets rushed off for treatment, and Party Poison follows, making sure to stay clear of the nurses and stay out of the way.

Jet Star and Ghoul stay in the lobby area, unsure over what to do. Ghoul simply goes back to knitting, unperturbed by today’s events. Jet Star wonders if they should stay or go home. Does Party Poison want them around?

He doesn’t leave. He sticks right next to Ghoul, and finds himself dozing as soft pop plays from the receptionist’s radio.

-

Hours later, and Party Poison appears before them. The fluorescent lighting makes them appear washed out and ghostly, and their hair still maintains that fire like quality. 

“I know you guys just met and shit, but since you helped save his life, do you wanna see him?” Their eyes flicker between them, back and forth. “He’s a lot better now. Got some fluids and stuff in him.”

Jet Star smiles. “If he’s up for it.”

They follow behind Party Poison, weaving around the frantic nurses. Jet Star’s lost nearly all sense of time in this place, and he wonders about how the nurses feel. Must be stressful working there, considering how many injuries there are all the time. Self preservation is a quality no desert dweller possesses.

Kobra Kid glances up from a MURDER magazine and gives a little nod. “Jet Star and Fun Ghoul, right?”

“Yep.” Jet smiled. “Howdy.”

“Doctors said that if I’d been out there for another day, I’d be vulture food.” His voice is rough, and he probably isn’t even supposed to be speaking. “Thanks, guys.”

There’s sincerity dripping from every syllable. “Ah, it was all Poison.”

“Never would have found you without the car.” Poison sighs. They glance back at Jet Star and Fun Ghoul. “Guys, if there’s anything I can do… money, favours…” They tilt their head and raise their brows in a suggestive way, and Jet Star’s skin crawled at the vulgar suggestion. They didn’t say the word, probability because their little brother was right there. “Anything. Just name it.”

Jet Star glances at Ghoul. Ghoul gives him a small smirk, and he has a feeling they’re both thinking the same thing. It’s kind of weird, but Ghoul already seems to have taken a shine to Party Poison, or he was just weirdly obsessed over their hair.

“You guys said you didn’t have a crew, right?” Jet begins, and Ghoul leans against the door, a shit eating grin plastered all over his face.

“Yeah?”

“You wanna make a crew with us?” At their blank expressions, Jet grows a bit nervous. “I mean, only if you want to, but like, I watched you kick ass at a bar and like, I’m sure you’re just as strong as them, and you guys seem really cool, so…”

“I’d love to.” Kobra’s voice is soft, and there are tears brimming in his eyes. 

Party Poison smiles. “I guess this makes us a gang. What should we call ourselves? Dynamite Duo doesn’t really fit us.”

Jet Star cringed at the name. It had been a joke proposal, but Fun Ghoul insisted on using it. He really wanted Jet to face the consequences of his actions, and to the misfortune of all involved, the name caught like a wildfire as Dr. D began to use it in his broadcasts. 

“Well, we’ve got all the time in the world for that, don’t we?”

-

They become quick friends. Jet Star’s been in crews before this, and never has he seen a bond as fast as theirs form. Before he knows it, Kobra Kid gets discharged from the hospital and a whole year passes by.

Their dynamics twist and change. Jet Star and Party Poison seem to have a strange affinity for each other, and Kobra Kid and Fun Ghoul bond bizarrely. They’re all friends, of course, but things feel strangely tense between Jet Star and Kobra, and Party Poison and Ghoul are always bickering.

It’s rather strange, really, watching Party Poison develop a personality. Ghoul and Jet were both raised in the desert and have never tasted those pills BLi shoves down the citizens' throats, but Kobra and Poison have. Party Poison started out a bit meek and rough, but they’re becoming the group prankster and chatterbox. It’s an interesting development.

Kobra Kid hasn’t changed much. He’s quiet, yeah, but he has a lot of personality and energy. Over breakfast one day, when Ghoul and Party were playing a game of chicken, and Kobra Kid and Jet were left to themselves, Kobra Kid talked a bit about his sibling.

Apparently, Kobra Kid’s been off the pills since he was eleven. Party Poison wasn’t so lucky. They’d only just gotten off the pills before they ran away to the desert together. In fact, Party Poison had only gotten over their withdrawals a couple of weeks before the gang formed.

Even though they all had radically different backstories and personalities and dynamics, they did begin to think of themselves as a family. They worked as a unit, and apparently, they worked well. Ghoul became the demolition expert, Kobra was a hacking genius, Party Poison was a great medic, and Jet Star remains the powerhouse and best fighter.

They begin to make a name for themselves, something that catches the desert’s attention. Dr. D begins to broadcast their missions more and more as they grow bigger and grander. They begin to spar with Drac patrols, protect the small villages that line the routes, and kill any exterminator sent their way. 

It goes great.

Until it doesn’t.

-

In the middle of a gun fight, the worst possible thing happens. It was supposed to be an easy fight against a simple Drac patrol that wandered too far south and managed to hit a party happening in that vicinity.

It was easy pickings for the group when they got there. Dracs were always easy to fight, even if they’re in large numbers. They’re stupid as hell since they wear masks that rot their brains or they’re the reanimated corpses of those captured.

Jet Star tries not to look at their faces.

The fight was easy. Jet Star couldn’t even see an exterminator amongst the pack of Dracs, which was a bit strange. Dracs needed leadership. 

It was good luck though, so Jet Star didn’t think twice.

Until a scream shattered the strange serenity and security of the fight.

Jet Star finished off the two Dracs to his left and spun on his heel, kicking up dust as he searched for the source. Fun Ghoul was on the ground, and Party Poison was at his side, gun pointed at the perpetrator. 

Scarecrow Korse loomed above his friends.

Oh, fuck.

Jet Star’s never seen him before, because if you’re one of the unfortunate souls who managed to find him, you wouldn’t live to tell the story. Korse had the second highest kill count in all of BLi, only behind the Director. This man hunts down killjoys for fun, and slaughters villages with a predatory smile.

There’s a million thoughts swirling in Jet Star’s head as he scrambled to reach his friends, but the most prominent one is, _I’m going to watch my entire crew get killed again_. It’s happened twice before- every time he makes a new gang, a disaster always strikes, and he gets to be the one left awake in the aftermath. Every time, every time, every fucking time…

The Dracs are slowing him down, and he doesn’t think as he shoots them down. He’s on autopilot now, his vision tunneling on Ghoul and Poison, as he fights his way towards them. With every step he takes, a new detail becomes clearer- the way Party Poison is shaking, the distance Korse is covering, the pool of blood under Ghoul, the fact that neither Korse nor Party Poison has let out a single shot since the scream. 

Jet Star is crying as he fights, the tears clouding his vision. No, he can’t let this happen again, god damn it. 

Party Poison and Korse are talking. He can’t understand what’s being said, but he can see Korse’s mouth move as he edges closer and closer. Party Poison isn’t moving, except for their shaking hands, with their gun haphazardly pointed at Korse’s knee. Strange. Party Poison’s hands never shook- that’s why they made such a good medic.

He sees that Kobra Kid’s being flooded with Dracs. Party Poison isn’t fighting, and Ghoul is probably unconscious. Jet Star has to make a move.

Korse leans down, and his hand hovers over Party Poison’s cheek. He’s whispering something, and Party Poison flinches back but otherwise doesn’t move. Their gun has lowered, now practically pointed at the ground.

Jet Star’s in range.

As Korse leans his head directly in front of Party Poison, as their faces becomes barely inches apart, Jet Star takes the shot.

His hands are shaking too much for the shot to hit its target- Korse’s face- but it does land. Korse stumbles back, the jolt of electricity stinging his rib cage. Jet Star knows that it won’t do much damage in the long run- this man is more android than true human, and any damage will be fixed- but it sends pleasure dripping down his spine to see that bastard bleed.

Party Poison suddenly comes back to life. Their gun juts up and they send off three rounds, the sounds echoing in the air. Two of them hit Korse straight on.

Jet Star finally skids onto the scene. Korse has his gun out and is preparing to fire. Jet Star tries to shoot at him, but Party Poison beats him.

“Take Ghoul to the car,” Party Poison orders. “Get him out of here.”

“Poison-“

“You’re strong enough, not me. Go.”

Party Poison sends off a few more rounds to punctuate their words. Jet Star can’t leave his friend to die, he can’t leave them to get slaughtered, but he can’t leave Ghoul there in the middle of a firefight.

Shit, shit, shit…

Jet takes action. He grabs Ghoul’s shoulders and latches his arms underneath him, trying to drag him. He then gets his hands under his torso and picks him up properly. He doesn’t weigh much, so Jet Star finds his balance quickly and starts running towards the BLi van they managed to hot wire since their trans am was being borrowed by Show Pony. Kobra’s speeding towards him, sending off a few shots to some of the Dracs trying to follow him. Does he know Poison is…?

No time.

Jet Star shoves Ghoul into the back. Kobra tosses his body into the back with Ghoul, slamming into the seats. The doors are still open, and Jet Star’s body acts before he can think as he slams the gas.

Party Poison.

He’s leaving Party Poison behind.

Jet Star nearly slams the brakes. He’s letting another crew member die, he’s letting down his crew again, he’s destroying his crew again, he’s fucking everything up. But it’s Korse. If Korse catches them, he’ll slaughter them. He hates killjoys, especially young ones like them. They’ll die. He’ll get Kobra and Ghoul and himself killed.

But Party Poison….

“Where’s Party?” Kobra Kid is frantically wriggling around, glancing over the seats and trying to see into the passenger side. “Where are they?”

Jet remains silent.

“Where are they?!”

Kobra Kid’s head cocks at the sound of gunshots. He spins around, and Jet knows what he sees, because when he glances at the rear view mirror, he sees it too. 

Party Poison’s firing at Korse.

“We have to go back!” Kobra screams. “Jet, stop! Stop!”

Jet keeps his eyes on the rear view mirror instead of the road. He listens to Kobra Kid scream, but he doesn’t stop. Fuck, fuck, fuck…

Party Poison suddenly broke into a run. Jet watches them as they sprint across the sands towards them. Korse has stumbled a bit, and Party Poison must have landed a good shot.

Jet Star slams on the break and starts backing up. Party Poison’s getting closer, closer, closer…

Poison jumps into the back of the van, flying into Kobra’s arms. However, just as they hit the van, the sound of a gunshot rings as clear as day.

Jet Star slams on the breaks as Kobra Kid closes the door. It’s dead silent for a moment, and Jet Star’s holding his breath in anticipation.

“It’s just a scratch,” Party Poison finally speaks, and Jet can see in the mirror them struggling to sit up. Kobra Kid pushes them back down, his face pinched but his touch gentle.

“No, it fucking isn’t.”

Jet Star blocks out everything else, ignores the lone figure of Korse on the sand dune, and keeps driving.

-

At the diner, Kobra Kid shoves Ghoul into Jet’s arms. “You handle Ghoul, I’ll handle Party Poison.”

Finally, Jet Star can see the severity of the wounds. Ghoul’s been shot in the stomach- he’s going to need a lot of stitches, but otherwise, he’ll live. Party Poison was shot in the back, just missing their spinal cord. They’re in a lot of pain, and they passed out during the drive.

Jet Star manages to stitch up Ghoul in the living room, his hands shaking still from the adrenaline of the fight. He knows Ghoul is safe now, he knows that he’ll be fine, but his heart keeps hammering in his chest, and yeah, he starts to cry a bit.

Kobra Kid manages to stitch up Party Poison, but he refuses any of Jet Star’s help. Kobra Kid stays right next to Party Poison, and locks them in his room.

-

Although it might’ve been the first time they ran into Korse, it certainly isn’t their last. After that fight, Korse develops an eerie obsession with the now recently christened Fab Four, with a special interest towards Party Poison.

After waiting patiently, Party Poison eventually explained the situation to the rest of the crew. Apparently, Party Poison was a high ranking officer under Korse, and when Korse figured out who Party Poison was, it sparked this drive to kill them since they betrayed him and the company.

Jet Star doesn’t know how to feel about that explanation. It makes perfect since- BLi hates defectors. But whatever happened down there, well, it seems too tender for them to be simply coworkers.

Jet Star remembers Party Poison’s grimy face, filled to the brim with unshed tears as Korse leaned into their space. Still, he doesn’t say a word.

-

They lick their wounds and they survive and they thrive. Firefights with Korse become a regular fling, and Jet Star’s fear of the man has admittedly began to decline. The team has gotten even more popular now that they’ve survived claps against Korse, and it seems that the overall attitude of the desert is steadily becoming more and more positive.

Despite all their fights with Korse, the next catastrophe doesn’t occur until a few months later. 

Dr. D radios them out of the blue one summer day, and Jet Star’s the first to answer. There’s been a firefight in Zone Two, and Dr. D gives out specific coordinates, explaining that he thinks they might be interested.

At that time, the gang was already on the road. Party Poison’s at the wheel, Ghoul and Kobra are playing a card game in the back, and Jet Star’s sitting shotgun and idly nodding off. Jet Star chirps back that they’ll be there, and Party Poison slams their foot on the accelerator.

Jet Star knows exactly where they’re going, but he keeps quiet. It’s a pornodroid village by the outskirts of Dreams Boulevard. All droids who escape from Battery City usually end up there for at least part of their life. It’s a nice place, and the droids there are always kind.

It takes a few minutes, but they manage to break all speeding laws and arrive in record time.

Just in time to watch the whole village burn.

Party Poison practically throws themself out of the car. Kobra Kid pushes Ghoul off of him and follows suit. Jet Star quietly heads out after them.

The village is on fire. A couple of buildings have already turned to rubble, and Jet Star can see makeshift tents either destroyed from a different force or set ablaze. 

Party Poison sprints through the town, desperate. Kobra Kid stands near the entrance, staring absently at the corpse of a young droid woman. Ghoul’s expression at the sight of the village was impassive at best.

Jet Star hesitantly follows Poison, carefully avoiding stepping on the charred and broken corpses of those too unfortunate to have escaped. All in all, he doesn’t actually see that many, which is a relatively positive thing despite this atrocity. 

Still, the smell of burnt flesh and melted plastic and the awful pools of blood-like fluid churn Jet Star’s stomach.

Party Poison is absolutely hysterical by the time Jet manages to catch up to them. They’ve dropped to the floor, hovering next to the charred remains of a young man. All of his wires and gears are exposed, some of his metal insides having been melted from the heat of the flames. Jet Star felt sick.

“They’re dead,” Party Poison whispered. “Not a living soul still around.”

“They didn’t exactly have souls to begin with.” 

Ghoul makes an appearance behind Jet Star, and he flinched at his statement. Party Poison’s head whips up, eyes flaring. They look as if they’re on the cusp of breaking down sobbing, their face a blotchy red.

“What the fuck did you just say?”

Ghoul’s expression twists into one of surprise. “What? Come on, you’re from the city. You know those machines don’t have feelings or shit.”

“Ghoul,” Jet begins, softly. But he can’t stop the fight from breaking out.

Party Poison immediately rises to their feet, and there’s a simmering anger threatening to boil over. “How dare you! These people have been slaughtered, and you’re saying they can’t feel? That they’re not human? Right over their grave?!”

“Look at the bodies. It’s all metal and gears. They’re made by BLi, Poison. You can’t trust them for shit. It’s better that they’re dead, honestly.”

Party Poison’s jaw nearly drops, and they seem to physically stall, as if they’re so shocked from Ghoul’s words that they’re momentarily stunned. Ghoul’s sorely misjudged Poison’s character if he thinks they’ll ever agree with him- Party Poison has such a bleeding heart that they name the animals they’re gonna eat before they kill them because they can’t stand the idea of “anyone dying without a name”.

Kobra Kid’s finally joined them, and he looks sick to his stomach. Only Ghoul remains unperturbed by the sight before them.

“You’re sick,” Poison finally states, edging closer and closer to Ghoul. “You’re so fucking sick to say that on their graves, above their corpses.”

“They don’t have souls. They don’t have corpses. These are just hunks of debris and metal.” Ghoul remains just as resolute. “They’re not human, and you’re stupid to treat them as such.”

There’s a loud smack, one only replicated by the action of a fist connecting to skin. Ghoul nearly stumbles to the ground, his expression stunned. Kobra Kid shakes his hand, his aviators pushes up to the top of his head so he can glare down at Ghoul. 

“Bastard.”

Ghoul snaps out of his shock. “Oh, what, do all of you think these plastic machines can actually feel when they’ve been programmed by BLi? You think they’re so fucking human? God! Jet Star!” Ghoul spins on his heel, desperate. “Come on, talk some sense into them!”

Jet Star’s eyes flicker between Party Poison and Kobra Kid, whose eyes are laser focused on him. Kobra is visibly shaking with anger. Party Poison looks on the verge of tears.

In all honesty, Jet likes the droids. He thinks they can feel and dream and hope. They’re just as human as him. His mamas always told him and his brother that you can’t generalise things, or else that hurts everyone. And generalizing that all things from BLi are inherently evil hurts those who aren’t.

And Jet Star has a lot of sympathy for them. Newer pornodroids can’t cry. BLi took that ability away from them, even though it was actually a popular trait that people would suggest. Since the people themselves were too emotionally suppressed to cry, and were extremely pressured into not doing so, it fascinated them to no end.

Jet Star remembers hearing some awful horror stories from some of the droids he encountered. He remembers how people in Battery City were fascinated with the idea of crying, and how they’d do anything to make those droids cry. 

He’s heard so many terrible things done to them because people don’t see them as human. If a droid can whisper a story of how they were nearly beaten to death just to make them cry so the person who bought them could watch in some twisted pleasure and experience trauma from it? Well, Jet Star isn’t going to say that they’re not human.

“Sorry, Ghoul, but I don’t agree.” 

Ghoul’s face twists into a frown as he realizes that it’s three to one. He seems to consider his options, and while Ghoul never backs down from a fight, he seems to realise now isn’t the time and that he might end up losing a lot if he continues. “Whatever. Let’s just go home. There’s nothing for us here.”

Party Poison chokes back something wet as they rub their nose. Kobra Kid and Party Poison begin to walk back to the car, though Poison’s eyes are still locked on the charred corpse they had sat next to.

“Y’all sure do have a strange sympathy for the pornodroids...” Fun Ghoul muttered to himself, kicking the ground.

“Maybe you don’t have enough,” Poison whispered.

They get back into the car. It’s a long, tense ride.

-

Things are tense between Kobra Kid and Party Poison with Ghoul. Jet Star knows why Ghoul thinks the way he does- it was whispered in the back of the trans am, under a starry night after Jet had saved his life for the very first time.

Ghoul’s parents had been killed by a droid. Ghoul had watched from his view in their car as his parents stopped to help the droid, thinking that they had just escaped Battery City. The droid then sent two shots through both their hearts, killing them right in front of Ghoul.

It didn’t leave a good impression on Ghoul.

But Ghoul doesn’t explain himself to the others. He just remains pretentious and refuses to acknowledge his friends and refuses to rethink his stance.

-

Eventually, the tension faded. Ghoul sort of apologizes through his actions, stealing chocolate from the Youngbloods to give to Party Poison and Kobra Kid. It’s not a real apology, and they know Ghoul won’t change his mind.

Still, they mend a bit.

-

It’s easy to forget the dangers of the desert until you’re confronted with it. Korse and his men have become a nightmare of old, and no one has been treating them as actual threats, which turns out to be a mistake on everyone’s part.

When Jet Star’s on the cusp of turning eighteen, something terrible happens.

Party Poison disappears.

They had left the diner to go get some hair dye, like they always do when everyone’s roots start to show. It was routine, it happened every month, and nothing tipped anyone off that something different would happen this time.

They left at noon. Jet Star became absorbed with cleaning and maintaining and repainting his gun, Kobra Kid was trying to fix up the trans am while Poison was out with the old BLi van, and Ghoul was experimenting with some bomb designs. Everyone was so busy, they didn’t even notice Poison was missing until they all reconvened for dinner.

Jet Star was popping open cans of Powder Pup when Kobra waltzed in, looking even greasier than Fun Ghoul, which was a hard standard to surpass. “Hey, have you seen Poison?”

“I thought they were with Ghoul?”

Ghoul pops in next, his face covered in soot. “Well, things didn’t end up going as planned… I hope we aren’t going to need any cactus any time soon, because I just blew up that huge patch by the no man's ditch. And I mean the whole patch.”

“Have you seen Poison?” Jet tried, setting down the cans. 

Ghoul hummed. “Weren’t they with you?”

There’s a veil of silence that suffocated them as they all suddenly become acutely aware that Poison didn’t come back home. Kobra immediately heads out, looking to see if the van was even parked outside. 

“Maybe they got caught in a trading war with Tommy?” Ghoul tried.

While trying to barter with Tommy Chow Mein could take years, Party Poison didn’t have the patience for that old man. It shouldn’t have taken them this long. The sun was already set, and that means it’s been way too many hours since they last saw them.

Kobra Kid comes back inside, his expression grim.

Poison’s gone.

-

The next day, there’s a report on the radio from Dr. D. Kobra Kid dials up the volume, and all three lean intensely towards the radio, desperate. Party Poison didn’t show back up during the night.

“Ladies, gentlemen, and those who know better, I have some very unfortunate news.” Dr. D sounds tired, his voice strained and his tone strange. Oh no. “Our favorite cherry red riot, Party Poison, was reported as ghosted, dusted out at Dreams Boulevard, after a nasty firefight with three exterminators and a Drac patrol. May the Witch protect their desert sun soul, and may you learn to keep your gun close and your wits about you. There’s something changing in this desert air, and I’m not talking about a dust storm. This is Dr. Death Defying, signing off.”

Mad Gear and the Missile Kid’s _Heaven Help Us_ began to play. Kobra Kid’s face was stained with silent tears. Jet Star couldn’t believe his ears.

“No.” Ghoul slams his fist on the table top. He steals the keys to the trans am from Jet Star, and defiantly shakes them. “No, let’s go. We need to talk to Dr. Death.”

Jet Star snatched those keys back. Silently, he began to walk out of the diner. The others followed.

-

“Sorry, kids,” Cherri Cola begins, and he actually looks sorry for them. “Dr. D doesn’t really want to be disturbed at the moment.”

“He can’t expect to air that fucking obituary and not have us barging in here!” Ghoul snaps. He’s itching for a fight, and his hand seems to twitch towards his gun.

Cherri Cola remains somber. Although he’s twice their age and fond of calling them kids, he treats them like adults and doesn’t sugarcoat anything. It’s a fact Jet Star appreciates from him, that he sees them all as equals. “Look, I know you got a lot of rage building within you, and I know you’re wanting to start a fight, but-“

“Oh, don’t be a stick!” Show Pony shoves the door all the way open, and, oh. Their face is red, and there’s some dried tears staining their cheeks. “Come on, let them in! If they want to punch Dr. D for not telling them about the eye witness before broadcasting, I don’t think it’s within our right to stop them.”

Ghoul takes the invite and pushes past Cherri Cola. They dejectedly amble into the radio station, a place that used to feel like a second home. 

“You rat’s ass!” Ghoul screams as he throws the door to the recording room open. Dr. D remains unperturbed as he spins around, his eyebrows lifted slightly, as if to say, _Oh, me?_

“Hello, boys.”

“You bastard! You fucking moldy piece of iguana meat! I’m gonna strangle you!” Ghoul’s screams could probably be heard in the next zone.

“I presume this means you heard the broadcast?”

“What the fuck do you think?”

Dr. D shrugs. “In all honesty, until we find a body, I’m not convinced your friend is dead.”

“Then why the hell did you broadcast that report?” Jet inquires, because he’s feeling a rage nearly as soul consuming as Ghoul’s, and he doesn’t bother fighting the tears that spill down his cheeks. “Why would you do that?”

“It was an eyewitness report. They said they saw Party Poison get blown to smithereens. There’s several others who confirmed that there was a firefight there. I’ve delivered news on less.” Dr. D sighs. “It’s only been a day. I think you need to calm down. We’ll likely have a sighting of Party Poison within the next three days. They’re not good at lying low nor dying. Have faith.”

Jet Star doesn’t know what to say or do. Ghoul snatches the cassette tape from its spot, stopping the stream of Blink-182. Dr. D remains unphased. 

“Stay here for a little while,” Dr. D invites. “Your friend will show up sooner or later.”

Begrudgingly, they do stay at the shack.

-

Two weeks later, a call comes in. By now, Jet Star and the rest of the gang are irritated beyond belief. They’ve spent their nights crying and wallowing, and now they’re ready for a fight.

“Hey! This is Vamos? Um, I think we just found Party Poison, and they don’t seem to be like, completely dead? Uh, I mean, they’re in shit condition, but like, they’re breathing? I dunno, man, we’re not really sure if this is them or-”

“Yo! This is Vaya! This is definitely Party Poison- got the red hair, gorgeous features, yellow mask, hot tan, blue jacket, pretty eyes, immaculate jawline-“

“Listen, just. Here’s our coordinates.”

They hang up. 

The room is silent.

Immediately, Jet Star and the others scramble for the door. Show Pony cheers for them as they sprint out of the building. Jet Star can barely restrain the scream threatening to burst. As he pulls out the keys, he whispers a prayer to the Witch.

Please, let this be real.

-

It is.

The two kids, Vaya and Vamos, are surprisingly calm with having found the body of some big time killjoy. They hand them over with ease, although Jet can hear Vaya mutter bitterly about being ‘unable to tenderly care for Poison's wounds so they can fall in love’ to which Vamos slapped them.

However, this brought about a lot of problems and questions upon finding Party Poison.

For one, Party Poison does look genuinely burnt to a crisp. Vamos and Vaya did their best, but they’re just a couple of preteens with little medical experience, so it stabilized them, but otherwise did nothing else. Apparently, they’ve also been unconscious the whole time.

Secondly, there’s a four year old who Vaya claims came with Party Poison. She seems terrified out of her mind and has latched onto Party Poison.

There’s not enough time to sort everything out. Party Poison needs proper medical attention, and fast- they have a lot of unstable injuries, and no one there is a good enough medical expert to tend to them.

They end up taking them back to the radio shack, and since the girl won’t let go of Poison, they take her, too.

-

Cherri Cola bursts into action when they arrive, Jet Star carrying Party Poison as gently as he can. Party Poison was strangely heavy.

“Fuck,” Cherri breathed. “Follow me.”

Jet Star gently laid Party Poison onto Cherri’s bed as Cherri pulled out medical supplies. The gang circled around as Cherri prepared some burn treatment and threaded a needle.

“If you got a weak stomach, I recommend leaving,” he warned as he grabbed a piece of twisted shrapnel and yanked.

Unfortunately, this was the time Party Poison decided to wake up. And of course, they started screaming in pain.

The Girl immediately began crying. “Don’t hurt them! Don’t hurt them!” She shrieked, and looked ready to start hitting Cherri.

Ghoul scooped her up into a tight hold and tried to get her out of the room. She began to start sobbing as they left, her eyes trained on Poison as she screamed and screamed to be let go.

Poison clamped their mouth shut and managed not to let another scream pass as Cherri pulled out another piece of metal. They bit down on a knife Cherri gave them, and squeezed their eyes shut as Cherri went to work. Although they were in a shit ton of pain and appeared to be on the verge of tears, they didn’t let a single tear drop down their face.

Cherri Cola suddenly hesitated, moving his back to block Jet’s view. Kobra Kid grabbed Jet’s wrist and began to steer them away from the room. “Come on, I’ll go help Cherri, and you go help Ghoul with the kid.”

Jet tried to protest, but Kobra slammed the door shut. He leaned in, trying to listen. All he could hear were explicatives dripping from Cherri’s tongue and panting from Party Poison.

He sighed and left to help Ghoul. The rat boy was shit with kids.

-

A day later, after the little operation, and Cherri announced that Party Poison was both awake and ready to see people. Everyone came flooding into the room, and Party Poison perked up at the sight of so many friends.

“Oh, Destroya,” they moaned, “not to be sappy as hell, but like damn, it’s great to not be stuck in the desert all alone as vultures pick at my drying bones.”

“Now that you’re… closer to being healthy, sugar cube,” Show Pony begins, leaning seductively against the doorframe, because even in dire situations, Show Pony can never shake their habit of acting like a slut. “What the hell happened to you?”

“It’s a long story.” The Girl sprinted past the Fab Four’s legs and launched herself into Poison’s bed, trying to snuggle against them. They smile gently. “One that involves her.”

-

On their way to Tommy’s, Party Poison managed to stumble across a Drac patrol. Unfortunately, they were being led by three exterminators, so Party Poison tried to fight them all, unable to escape and call for backup.

They managed to raid one of the vans and found the Girl, who had mentioned she had been captured just a few minutes before. Obviously, Party Poison couldn’t just leave her, so they took her with them as they tried to escape the mess of Dracs.

They were trying to flee when one of the exterminators tossed a bomb at them. The grenade decimated all of the vehicles and nearly wiped out the entire patrol when Party Poison kicked it right back at the BLi men. Poison and the Girl hadn’t managed to get out of range from the bomb, so Poison got all fucked up from the explosion and a couple of bullets.

(Party Poison doesn’t explain how they were hurt by the blast and not the girl, but they don’t have to. Party Poison must’ve thrown themself over her as a shield. Party Poison loves to brag, but never when it counts. All that bravado never fooled Jet Star- they’re soft.)

Still, after the explosion, Party Poison managed to kill the rest of the Dracs and grabbed the kid and ran. All of the vans had been totaled, so they had to travel on foot. Party Poison tried to lead them towards the radio shack, but they became a bit delirious and got lost after losing too much blood.

Eventually, Party Poison passed out near the middle of Route Guano. Their body couldn’t handle all the strain of dehydration and blood loss. 

“But!” Party Poison made jazz hands, grinning madly. “I lived, bitch!”

“Destroya only knows how,” Kobra muttered.

“Anyway!” Poison waves him off. “In summary, I’ve adopted the Girl, and I’m the baddest bitch alive.”

-

There’s a lot of debate on where the girl should go. Dr. D doesn’t think a bunch of teenagers should have such a liability, but the Girl is attached to Party Poison, who seems equally attached. 

The answer was decided for them.

They leave after a week of rehab for Poison, who got stir crazy after just a couple hours of being in bed, but Cherri was damn insistent on them resting. Party Poison wasn’t good at resting, and eventually they annoyed Cherri enough to wear him down into granting them leave.

“Please,” Cherri began, looking almost like he was praying. “Don’t remove or pick at those stitches, and make sure to rewrap those bandages every twelve hours.”

“Alrighty, doc!” Poison leaned against him, smiling widely. “Don’t worry! I don’t exactly want to be back here to play patient, you know. It is not fun having you stick all those needles in my gorgeous skin- hey, wait.”

Suddenly, Party Poison moves away from Cherri and stares at them. “You know what, I don’t think we’ve actually met before.”

Now that Jet Star thinks about it, they actually haven’t. Everytime the Fab Four travels to the radio shack and Cherri’s there, Party Poison isn’t. They’re either out on supply runs or Cherri’s off delivering messages.

Cherri Cola frowns, and they both seem to stare at each other for a moment. Cherri’s nose scrunches, and he almost appears contemplative. “Huh. I guess not. Weirdly enough, I feel like I have seen you before.”

Party Poison smiles. “Probably because we’ve met in my dreams.” They toss a wink, and Cherri rolls his eyes before giving them a quiet good-bye.

-

The Girl is an… interesting addition to the group. Jet never would have adopted a kid on his own- he likes kids well enough, but not quite like this. Besides, he never would have thought any of them would be emotionally mature enough to take care of one.

But his crew still manages to surprise him even after all this time.

The Girl grows to love each of the members, and everyone grows fond of her right back. It puts a bit of a strain on their already precarious condition over supplies, but he thinks it’s well worth it if they don’t eat enough as usual. 

After all, the Girl loves living with them. She loves them, and they love her back, and now there just isn’t any back tracking. Because now they’re a family, and there’s no way they’re ever going to stop being one.

So, the Girl stays.

-

Not long after that incident, Jet Star wakes up to the sound of rustling. He nearly grabs his gun out of instinct, but he relaxes after a moment. His crew mates are all pretty nocturnal, so there’s no reason to worry. Ghoul’s probably scuttling about the dîner for a midnight snack.

Jet creeps out of his room to try to find the source. It might just be his friends, but it never hurts to confirm his suspicions. So he carefully finds his way down the hallway in the dark, a feat that’s no longer difficult after years and years of practice.

It’s coming from Party Poison and Kobra’s room. There’s a light on, and Jet can hear whispers and murmurs being exchanged in the still of the night. Jet Star leans his ear to the door, straining to listen.

Jet Star shouldn’t be listening. He’s eavesdropping on his friends. But all that rustling is keeping him from sleeping, and he can’t help but wonder what the hell those two are up to at three in the morning. Maybe they were rewrapping Poison’s bandages?

He remains flat against the door, keeping quiet. Party Poison’s hearing is terrifyingly powerful- if Jet even breathes too loud, or rustles his clothes, Party Poison will spot him in a flash.

“Why do you do this?” Party Poison asks. There’s a bit of metal clanging in the background, and he hears some of the tiles squeak. Kobra Kid must be moving around, tinkering with something as they talk.

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“Well, I’m not really your missing brother.” Their voice is quiet. “Why do you care so much?”

Jet Star’s breath stutters. They’re not… did he hear that right? Did Party Poison just say they’re not related? That they’re lying about being siblings?

There’s a long pause. The clanking metal stops. 

“I know you’re not him,” Kobra whispers, and Jet has to strain his ears to hear his soft words. “But you look so much like him. And I know it’s selfish, but that’s part of the reason why I started helping you.”

“Part of the reason?” Party Poison echoes.

“At first, it was the only reason. But now I know you well, and now we’re friends. I help you because I want to, because I like you. Because you are my sibling now, Party Poison.”

Jet Star hears a choking noise. There’s silence, and he hears Kobra Kid scurrying around. “Come here.”

They’re hugging, he thinks. Jet Star pulls away, a little ashamed. He shouldn’t have listened in, because frankly that was rude, and now he’s brimming with so many questions.

He must have misinterpreted this conversation. He must have. Because why would they lie about being siblings? What do they have to gain through that? And they act like siblings, and they say they’re siblings…

Jet Star shakes his head and saunters back off to bed. He has no answers, and he doubts that he’ll get any.

-

Jet Star can’t shake the conversation from his mind. He knows he’s missing something, he knows that there must be another side to this story that he just doesn’t know. He decided to eavesdrop on them, and now he’s left with so many questions. 

So, admittedly, with the idea that they’re not actually brothers, Jet Star does find himself watching them more closely than he’d admit to. He searches their interactions, comparing them to the times he would spend with his own brother when he was younger. And they always managed to play the part- Party Poison maintained their suave older sibling front and Kobra Kid remained the annoyed younger brother. They seemed like they had been grown and raised together, they acted like they were carved from the same flesh and blood.

But Jet Star knows that bonds aren’t only made through blood, that lineage means nothing once you cross into the desert. So he finds himself at a standstill, watching the two siblings and finding no hint that they’re not siblings, and yet no confirmation that they are.

-

Another disaster strikes a few months later- this time, it’s Jet Star and the Kobra Kid who get swept into the desert. It’s the Route Guano incident.

It was supposed to be a simple supply run. In the market, out the market, go back home. Sweet, simple, easy, just like always. But a surprise encounter with an exterminator and her henchmen take them off guard, and their surprise costs them- they manage to escape the firefight with just a few scrapes but they got separated from the marketplace and found themselves wandering the desert.

It wasn’t all bad. Thankfully, it was after they had piled up on supplies, so they weren’t short on food or water like Party Poison had been. And it gave them both a chance to have a sort of bonding time. It’s not that they’re not friends, but Kobra Kid seems very hesitant to be near Jet, hesitant to speak. There’s always a strange tension that faded but never dissipated.

Kobra Kid and Cherri Cola both liked to write and shared poetry often. Show Pony and Kobra Kid had a strange respect towards the other. Kobra Kid and Fun Ghoul clicked instantly. Party Poison and Kobra Kid were raised together (?). It was just Jet that Kobra seemed almost uneasy near. They maintained a good relationship, but there was always something strange to their interactions that Jet could never place but always noticed.

They’re about two weeks into their accidental exile when Jet Star figures out why Kobra Kid seems so withdrawn when speaking to him.

It’s night time out by then, and they were huddled next to a fire Kobra Kid managed to spark. Although Ghoul had a fascination with explosions, it was Kobra Kid who gained the title of ‘pyromaniac’. The kid could start a fire with just his bare hands.

Desert nights were cold, and they were huddled together. Kobra Kid tried to avoid practically cuddling his friend, but when the winds started picking up, Kobra Kid gave in and the two found themselves tangled together.

“You remind me of my brother.”

It was soft, quiet, and probably an accidental slip. Jet Star glanced at Kobra Kid, surprise on his face. “What, Party Poison?”

Kobra’s face doesn’t betray anything, but his eyes show his alarm. He didn’t mean to voice that, then.

Jet Star thinks about the conversation he overheard, thinks about the way Party Poison framed their question. “I’m not your missing brother”. Kobra Kid does have a brother, but it’s just not Party Poison. Jet Star reminds him of his missing brother.

“Yeah,” Kobra Kid whispers, and averts his eyes to the stars.

Kobra Kid has a great poker face, and a great monotone voice. It’s why he’s great at gambling- he’s smart and he has the expressional capacity of a rock. But Jet Star has spent years with him, and he knows that soft answer was a hard lie.

Jet Star knows which sibling Kobra Kid is reminded of. 

And yeah, that makes his heart sting a bit at the thought. Is this why Kobra Kid doesn’t seem too keen on getting close to Jet? Something happened to his brother, his real brother. He went missing, and if he went missing in the city, chances are, he didn’t escape and is secretly living a life in the desert.

Jet Star has so many questions he wants to ask at that moment. There are so many that threaten to slip from his tongue, so many he fights back. What happened to your brother? Is he just missing? Is he dead? How did you and Party Poison meet, then? What was his name? What was he like? How could Jet Star be anything like him?

He remains quiet, and the two of them fall into a steadfast lull.

They remain that way for the rest of the night, the only sounds being Kobra Kid’s heart beat and the cawing of distant crows.

-

It takes about a month, but eventually, the two of them find Dr. D’s radio shack out of pure luck. The desert is huge, and even one Zone takes hours to cover by car, let alone foot. Jet Star doesn’t know much history, save the little his mothers tried to teach him, but he knew the state previously called California was ridiculously large.

Still, they managed to find the shack and Dr. D opened them into his home.

A month had been spent with just Kobra Kid as his companion, and the two managed to bond in ways previously unattainable. Kobra Kid opened up near him, seemed less afraid (and it has come to Jet’s attention that he wasn’t afraid of him, but rather for him. Whatever happened to his brother…. It wasn’t a peaceful disappearance) and all the tension between them melted.

They had always been friends, but their relationship felt just a bit more solid, a bit more true.

After Cherri Cola’s poetry hour, Dr. D sent out his usual traffic report. Apparently, everyone believed the duo to be quite dead, and, well, Jet couldn’t blame them. If you haven’t heard from someone in a month, chances are they’d been ghosted. However, in his little mockery of a new broadcast, he slipped in just a few code words, just a couple of words with double meanings. A secret message, coded only so Party Poison and Fun Ghoul could crack.

(Jet Star didn’t want to be mean about his friends, but they were the worst at decoding messages. Kobra Kid was the best- something in his head just managed to click at piecing together Dr. D’s hidden meanings. Jet Star was decent, but only because many of the phrases Dr. D used matched some of the lingo his mothers would use- Dr. D and his mothers had been veterans in the Helium Wars.

Fun Ghoul had spent most of his life acting as a loner, so he never bothered to pick up on hidden messages. Party Poison just couldn’t process the idea of double meanings. They weren’t dumb, but they were still shit at puzzles like the pieces Dr. D was giving to them.)

It took a few days, but eventually, Jet Star and the Kobra Kid heard the roar of the trans am. They saw the door get literally smashed off its hinges as Party Poison barrelled through, nearly crashing into Show Pony.

The reunion was, of course, tearful.

They huddled into a massive hug, limbs entangling bodies and heads tucked into necks. Everybody was crying, and that was a rarity to see. Jet Star was no stranger to tears- he cried a lot. Probably way too much considering the constant risk of dehydration any desert dweller faces. But that’s just how he was raised. His mamas always taught him to release his emotions however he needs to, and usually any pent up feelings results in spilled tears.

Jet Star just cries a lot. It’s funny, really, to see the reactions of other people watching this tall, intimidating man cry tears of joy at the sight of a cute dog. But he cries easily, with joy, pain, grief, or rage. 

Ghoul never cried. He was used to living on his own, and figured crying was a waste of resources. Still, Jet had seen him cry a few times before. Usually, it was from a nasty battle wound, but he’d also cried when Party Poison was thought dead.

Kobra Kid cried a bit more often than most people would believe. He didn’t cry loudly, just stood there and cried. He cried from laser blasts and he cried when he read a sad book he managed to snatch from a marketplace. 

But they were all openly weeping at the sight of each other, not wails or sobs, just tears streaming down cheeks in relief. Cherri Cola and Show Pony had decided to scram, thinking this was a rather private moment, and Jet Star was thankful no one was there to see the Fab Four in such a laughable state.

It isn’t until the four of them slowly untangle themselves does he notice something strange. Fun Ghoul’s drying his eyes, Kobra Kid’s sniffling a bit, and Jet Star is just letting his tear tracks dry naturally when he happens to take a good look at Party Poison.

There’s no tears pooling in their eyes, there’s no tracks indicating a single tear had fallen. Their face was red, their eyes were red, and they rubbed their nose, but there was no other sign that they had actually cried.

Now that Jet Star thinks about it, he’s never seen Party Poison cry. He’s watched them go through grief, watched them watch a sad movie, watched them do so many things that made other people cry, but never has Jet Star seen a single tear drip down their face. Not even now.

Maybe they’re still stuck in the mindset that crying equates weakness. BLi’s emotional propaganda ran deep even within people who escaped the city decades ago. It’s easily probable that Party Poison was just suppressing the emotion like they’d been taught, and was too nervous to deviate from their teachings.

But that doesn’t seem right.

Because Party Poison loves to deviate. They love to do everything BLi told them not to. They love to feel and emote and make those emotions all too well known to others. They love to feel, rapidly and all at once and all too much. They didn’t care if people cried, didn’t see it as weakness but strength to allow yourself to feel. 

Jet Star isn’t sure why Party Poison doesn’t cry, then. If he’s honest, Party Poison seems like the type to easily cry. Happy tears or enraged tears or sad tears, Party Poison seems like the type to just cry over whatever since they’re so emotional. 

Party Poison notices that he’s staring. They make eye contact, and Poison offers him a shaky smile. He smiles back.

(There’s time to think about all these things later. What matters now, what matters always, is relishing in his friends. They’re alive. He’s alive. He can focus on the minute later.)

-

Later does come, because when Jet Star notices an oddity, his mind becomes enraptured by it until he can solve the problem. 

He thinks back to all the moments he’s spent with Poison. Nothing has ever brought that guy to tears, not their first encounter with Korse, not that time Jet had to dislocate their wrist so they could escape from the handcuffs a couple of Dracs placed on them as they were being detained after getting capture, not when Cherri Cola had to treat all their burns, not when they taught the Girl how to kill, not when Kobra Kid was found bleeding under his crashed car and looked like roadkill all those years ago. Nothing managed to stir up tears.

Ghoul finds him staring at Party Poison as the red-head tells the Girl a story while she plays with their hair. It’s a funny thing to watch, because Party Poison’s become so absorbed in their story they don’t seem to care if the Girl is listening or not- and she definitely is. She always is, always loves to hear Party Poison spin tales from their adventures, loves listening to their slightly modified PG versions. And Party Poison loves to brag about their heroics, their skills, their fearlessness. 

“What’s on your mind, Jet?”

Jet thinks, listening to the story for a moment longer. He’s heard the same spiel from Show Pony, who was present for the story, albeit wasted out of their mind from partying- it was the time Party Poison raided a night club to try and stop a gang war from taking place. It didn’t really work out.

Party Poison’s too entranced by their own story and too far away to pick up on Jet’s voice, so he asks a question that’s been bothering him. “Have you ever seen Party Poison cry?”

Fun Ghoul hums absentmindedly as he sets down a magazine he was reading (well, reading is a loose term, because he’s actually pretty illiterate. He was really just looking at the pictures). He seems to lose his flippency as his concentration grows. “Huh… no. I guess not ....”

“Not even when Dr. D announced Kobra and me were dead?”

Fun Ghoul sombered at that. “No…. I mean like, they got depressed and shit, but they didn’t cry… I never saw it, anyway.”

It’s not important. Jet knows this. Still, he makes a little note, and pretends that it doesn’t matter. Ghoul still seems troubled by the topic even when Jet tries to shift the conversation to cars, the topic of Ghoul’s magazine.

(He doesn’t ask Kobra Kid about Party Poison’s tears. He’s got a feeling Kobra wouldn’t answer honestly, and would regard him with suspicion.)

-

Kobra just turned sixteen about a month ago. There’s a strange tension about him, and his eyes seem strangely hollow. Apparently, this age is something he’s been dreading, but Jet can’t figure out why.

He wakes up one night to the sounds of whispers. He’s a light sleeper, and he has half a mind to tell them all to shut up. So he walks down the hallway, soundless as ever, and finds himself at the door of Party Poison and Kobra Kid’s room yet again.

He nearly knocks, nearly tells them to keep quiet, but he doesn’t. Instead, he hovers, listening to their voices, and deciding to eavesdrop just one more time. He’s a horrible friend. The thought doesn’t stop him. Besides, he’s just curious about what topic is so important that they needed to hash it out in the middle of the night.

“Tell me about your brother,” Party Poison demanded.

Oh. Jet Star’s heart began to ache.

“I’ve told you thousands of stories about him.” Kobra sounds like he’s trying to be annoyed, but his facade is cracking. “There’s not much more for me to say.”

“Come on, Kobra. Indulge me, and indulge yourself. I know he’s the reason you’ve been feeling like shit ever since you turned sixteen.”

There's a hush that falls over them. Jet Star almost thinks that Kobra Kid won’t indulge them. 

“Fine. He’s twelve years older than me, and should be twenty eight. He got drafted into the Helium wars, the very last leg of it, when he turned sixteen. He was real fucking smart, and so BLi pushed he into the war. So he fought and fought until the war was over. And like I said, he was real smart, so he realised that war was fucking stupid, and that he just watched thousands of soldiers die for no good reason. So he… he fled.”

Kobra Kid remained quiet. “I was four, when he left for the war. I know that’s young as hell, but I still remember that day he left. I remember how he promised that we’d meet again, and that he’d take me with him once it was safe, once he could leave the war…”

“But yeah… He survived, and he was angry as hell. So he and four other people decided to not only desert to the desert like lots of other veterans, but he also decided to try and take down BLi. He created a faction, and for two years, they waged a war against BLi, going on missions to take down warehouses and Dracs and just anything he and his gang could get their hands on.

“I remember all the news stories about him, you know? Of course, BLi always twisted the stories, always pretended that they were completely in control. I remember being so fucking proud of him, even thoug I didn’t know why he was doing all this or what he was really doing.

“Either way, everything eventually went to shit. Two of his peers got executed by a BLi sleeper cell. In grief, the other became a wavehead, abandoning the cause. And then my brother disappeared. Like, like some smoke, he just vanished. No confirmation on a capture, no confirmation on a death. Nothing.”

Kobra Kid’s voice broke a bit. Jet could only imagine him burying his face in his hands, trying to hide his tears. “He said, when he left, that he would come back for me. He said he’d save me, said he’d never abandon me. And I know he spent all his time in the desert, bleeding and killing for a future where we could live together and I just…”

There was rustling. Party Poison must have moved, must have closed the gap between them. Jet’s certain they’re hugging. “I’m sixteen. They left for war at my age, they made me a promise. And now ten years later, I can barely remember his face, can barely remember the photos of him I saw in the BLi reports. He’s just… just a ghost now.”

Kobra Kid is full on crying now. He can hear his sniffles, his wails threatening to burst.

“I can’t help but wonder, you know, what my brother would think of me.” Kobra sounds so wistful, and Jet’s heart twists. “I mean, so much has changed since I last saw him. I’m not his little sister anymore, I’m a part of the rebellion he’s always wanted to join, the rebellion he helped start, and I’m just so different. I don’t know if he’d like who I’ve become. His little brother, who can’t even remember his face.”

Party Poison remains silent for a moment, probably trying to pick out their next words very carefully. “I know I’m not him, I know I’ll never be him. But if I’m even half as similar to him as you think I am, and if I understand him even half as well from all the stories you told me, well… I think he’d be real fucking proud of you.”

Kobra Kid dissolves into quiet sobs at that. 

Jet Star decides that now is the time to leave, and he slips away.

-

Jet Star doesn’t really talk much to his crew after listening to that story. He hides out in his room, thinking about Kobra Kid’s words, over and over. The story was familiar to him, and he had a feeling he knew exactly who Kobra Kid’s real brother was.

Twelve years ago, five veterans of the Helium Wars started a faction dedicated to eradicating BLi. They had seen the death and destruction of war, had endured long years in fighting for a cause they never believed in, killed their peers mercilessly so a corrupt corporation could create a false enemy and develop riches beyond belief. 

They were called Killjoys.

Their gang name sparked a transformation within the desert. The name became synonymous with rebellion, and eventually became adopted into the mainstream lingo to be used as a word for a person who fights against BLi. They were called the original killjoys.

Jet was still kind of young at the time, but he can vaguely recall their reign over the desert. He knows they brought about an instability within the desert as they called upon the people to bear arms and wage war against the corporation, to refuse to bow to that master anymore. And he knows that while the people believed in them, they were too drenched in yellow to fulfill the wishes of the ‘saviours’ they worshipped.

The original killjoys were just a band of disgruntled veterans. Cherri Cola had served as one- he was the wavehead who turned to addiction after the death of two of his peers. The two that had died were Ghoul’s parents- that had been a part of the conversation where Jet learned a sleeper droid murdered his parents. Dr. Death Defying had been the fourth killjoy who instead of falling into addiction in his grief decided to become obsessed with bringing about a new wave of killjoys to replace what had been the originals.

Jet Star feels dizzy, realizing how all of their lives seemed to weave together, like a spider web made of fate’s yarn. Kobra Kid’s brother was an original killjoy, who just disappeared. The rest of his peers either died or abandoned the movement, inadvertently or intentionally.

He lays in bed and thinks about all he’s learned. No wonder Kobra Kid finds being sixteen abysmal.

-

The Girl gets hurt in a raid.

It’s no one’s fault, really. Party Poison and the Girl decided to go for a ride, so Party Poison could teach her a bit more about shooting. They’re the best shot- something Jet Star had admitted with respect but also reluctance- since their hands never shook. Self defence was a necessity in the zones, and while Party Poison tried to keep her from learning how to shoot for as long as they could, they quickly realised they couldn’t protect her forever.

The Girl always has a blast on those little lessons. But Party Poison always comes back tired, something deep aching within their bones, something snagging their soul and keeping them from smiling the rest of the day. Jet understands.

Either way, it's on one of these excursions does Korse decide to show his ugly mug around. Party Poison’s gotten a lot better about facing the man- their hands never shake when they fight, and they don’t pull any shots. Jet doesn’t like to gossip, but sometimes he can’t help but wonder about the exact past relationship between Party Poison and Korse, because there is something more than bloodlust that runs on both sides.

They don't hear anything for a few hours. Which is a bit strange, considering Party Poison doesn’t enjoy these lessons and tries to make them as quick as possible. They don’t have any suspicions until the crew’s radio starts going berserk. 

The Girl’s voice is soft. “Please, please hear me guys.”

“Girlie? What’s up?” A million things pass through his mind as he answers the line.

“Dracs showed up. Party’s injured. Please come pick us up. The Dracs are all gone.”

They grab the keys and head out. Party Poison always brings the Girl to the same shooting spot, a little ridge out on the Haunted Route, one which is full of cacti fields. Jet slams the accelerator and speeds off, and the ride there, while short, feels like the longest thirty minutes of their lives.

They’re easy to spot. Poison’s lying on their side, and clearly talking to the Girl, who’s blubbering and crying. They’re trying to bandage her, Jet realises. But Party Poison’s too weak, and their hands keep shaking as they try to patch up a nasty burn on her ribcage.

Jet Star scoops the kid out of Poison’s arms. “I got this, Poison. Take a break.”

Kobra Kid starts to tend to Poison’s wounds. They don’t cry, but they do moan as Kobra begins to stitch them up right there, wiping away the sand as he worked.

The Girl is sobbing in Jet Star’s arms as he works to bandage her side. It’s a nasty wound that’ll leave a big scar, but it’s nothing she can’t recover from. Jet pushes her into Ghoul’s arms and orders him to try and calm her down (by now, Ghoul has gotten much better with little kids). 

Jet tries to help Kobra and Poison, but Kobra keeps trying to shoe Jet away. Kobra’s not their best medic, not by far- he can stitch himself up just fine, but he’s horrible at operating on other people. He’s not great at the sight of blood, which Jet can see is turning his face a slight green, but Kobra won’t let him help.

“Sorry, guys,” Poison mutters. There’s a lot of blood in the sand. 

“Don’t talk. You’re straining unnecessary muscles.”

“The Girl… I couldn't protect her.”

“What happened out here?

“Korse. Korse found us. I tried to drive them off. Nearly did, but got shot too many times. Girlie had to pick up the gun and go. She did good.” Party Poison struggled for breath. “She got shot too. I tried to take it for her, but too many people were shooting at us and I couldn't protect all of her.”

“It’s fine,” Jet whispers, brushing back their bangs. Party Poison flinched as Kobra’s needle began to piece together their flesh. “You did your best and the Girl is alive and well.”

“She got hurt.” Poison groaned and sniffled. Jet noticed their face was getting puffy and red, and their eyes were gleaming with sorrow. They looked like they were on the cusp of crying, but no tears spilled down their cheeks. “She’s so small, Jet. She can’t handle war.”

Neither can us.

It’s too harsh and too raw for Jet to whisper, but he does think it. No one can handle war. Not four teenagers with inflated egos, not a tiny child with too much hope in the universe, and not even five war torn veterans who have seen all the evils the world has to offer. 

“She did good.”

“She killed. I taught her to kill and she did.” Tears don’t fall, yet Party Poison still manages to choke down sobs. “Why’d we put a kid behind that gun?”

“She has to survive, Poison.”

Poison doesn’t say anything else, because they know the truth. They just stare up at the sky and squeeze Jet Star’s hand. They don’t cry, but they do whimper and moan with pain and sorrow. Jet Star just sits right next to them, watching as the needle slowly sews shut all of their wounds, as gentle hands place fabric over sensitive burns, and Kobra Kid does all he can to heal.

Jet Star’s at Poison’s side, watching for something he doesn’t even understand. Their mask was laying a few feet away, and their face was intimately exposed to the world. He found himself staring at that face, and that’s when he noticed them.

There’s scars all along Party Poison’s eyes. They seem old and faded, but they’re still visible to the naked eye. They used to be deep piercings, little cuts that raked against their face. There’s one large one that travels across almost their entire face.

Party Poison doesn’t say a word and doesn’t let a single tear spill as Kobra sews them up. And something clicks in Jet Star’s brain at that moment, something sad that forces him to remember the basic anatomy his mothers had taught him so long ago. 

Party Poison sniffles and shuts his eyes.

Jet Star squeezes their hand, and remains deathly still.

-

It takes a bit of time on Jet Star’s part, but the realization still stings.

Party Poison can’t cry.

He’s had it all wrong this entire time. It’s not a simple choice, it's not a result of the propaganda BLi shoved into their face since birth. It’s not a matter of simply suppressing their emotions, of refusing to expose themself and let their weaknesses be seen.

It’s not a choice. 

Party Poison can’t cry.

Whatever happened to their face made sure of that. Their tear ducts must have gotten harmed, and were broken because of whatever happened. And now Party Poison can’t cry, can’t sob, can’t even draw up a single tear no matter their emotions.

Of course they didn’t cry when they first met Korse. Of course they didn’t cry when Jet Star and Kobra Kid went missing. Of course they didn’t even cry when they found Kobra Kid’s body stuck under the rubble of a car crash, not even at the sight of so much spilled blood and twisted limbs and pale, pale skin.

They couldn’t.

-

Jet Star finds himself watching all of Party Poison’s reactions, watching them even closer than usual. There’s a sorrow deep in his chest every time he watches their face and their eyes get red, as their nose gets clogged, and their throat chokes on muffled sobs. 

They’re like the pornodroids Jet remembers from the village (now rebuilt). Kind droids who mean no harm, who think and feel and sense the same way as any other human, but couldn’t cry. He remembered one in particular who had her eyes gouged out because the person who bought her couldn’t stand the feeling of her tears as they engaged in sex, as her tears hit his skin.

He never asks Poison, never dares to say a word on the topic. It’s much too sensitive and much too private of a thing to even acknowledge. He doubts Poison wants to open up old scars, anyway.

He watches, and he thinks, but he does not speak.

-

Despite all their close brushes with death, their popularity continues to rise. They’ve become credited as too hard to kill and too stupid to die. Fair enough assessment.

They work hand in hand with Dr. D, running on missions left and right to try and cripple the empire of their enemy. Things don’t always go as planned, but things always end up alright. No one’s died yet, which makes Jet believe in a God simply because there’s no other explanation than divine providence for his motley crew of jackasses and dumbasses to still be standing.

Show Pony, who is as equal of a dumbass and jackass as the rest of the Fab Four, quietly begins to worm their way into the group. They’re about the same age as Party Poison, which means they’re just a stupid young adult like the rest of them. It is much harder to connect to Cherri Cola, because he is a full blown adult in their eyes, and has years of war to addle his humour and social skills. Everyone still loves him, though- he’s a gentle and peaceful man who’s just seen too many terrors to really be comfortable with coming out of his shell.

Show Pony easily becomes an asset, an ally, and a close friend. They spend too much time together, really, because Jet Star’s beginning to be able to anticipate just what kind of joke they’ll crack in a conversation. 

Show Pony and Party Poison get along eerily well. The two have the same sense of style, wit, and humour, and while opposites may attract, these two seem to be connected at the hip. They’re terrible when left alone together, and even worse when they manage to wrap the whole group into something.

There’s a weird respect between Show Pony and Kobra Kid. They’re not as showy in their relationship as Poison and Pony are, but those two are thick as thieves. And of course, Pony and Ghoul love to antagonise each other, acting like siblings as they try to out-annoy the other (Ghoul always loses. Show Pony is an expert on getting people riled up).

Show Pony becomes a vital ally. They are an expert at sneaking into facilities and posing as people who work there or new identities altogether. They like covert operations despite their inherently flashy nature- they love undermining people and superseding everyone’s expectations. And they’re damned good at it, too.

It’s become a habit for them to steal files they think the Fab Four could want or need for future missions. One time they stole a file regarding Drac scout locations, and the Fab Four had a field day finding each location and starting a shootout at each one. There weren’t any Drac patrols for weeks after that one.

Show Pony always delivers information. And not long before Party Poison and the Girl got into the shootout, Pony went undercover in a long term operation at a facility near Zone One. WIth how many times Show Pony manages to sneak back into BLi, it always amazes Jet Star how easily Pony manages to blow past all the security and background checks. BLi just must be desperate for workers.

It’s been a few months since they’ve last seen Show Pony. Jet Star’s kind of been missing them. They were like this annoying, pesky older sibling who didn’t know how to act like an older figure so they just bullshit their way through it. He kind of misses their stupid flirts, their weird sexy habits of standing promiscuously, their figure eights they always spin in, their jokes and their often very poor words of wisdom.

One day, the team’s radio gets a call. And when Jet Star answers, and Show Pony’s voice rings as clear as day across the entire diner, begging for him and his crew to come over to the radio shack, Jet Star doesn’t think twice.

He accepts. 

He didn’t know that was going to become a huge mistake.

-

Show Pony flings the door open before Party Poison could even knock. They lean against the door, sexily holding their helmet to their side as their other hand flutters above their forehead. “Well, well well. Are all you kiddos here to confess your undying love to me after all these years, because this’ll get awkward real quick if I have to watch you duke it out for my affections.”

“I love that you’re acting as if you didn’t invite us here yourself, you narcissistic attention whore,” Ghoul stated, smacking Show Pony’s shoulder playfully, but a bit too hard because Pony nearly loses their hold on their helmet.

Show Pony laughs before grabbing Ghoul’s wrist. “I’m not here for a history lesson! Now, come on in.”

They follow Pony into the radio shack, making their way through the labyrinth of CD’s and cassettes and even some old, old records. Stacks of magazines from times before the war lay at their feet, and they take special care not to destroy the very little order to the items cast about. Cherri Cola remains the shack’s sole cleaner, but even he can not undo the amount of garbage and clutter.

Dr. D is recording in his room, probably delivering another Traffic Report- it’s about that time, high noon. Another list of dead will be announced, and another marathon of Paramore will play.

“Well, Pony baby, what did you bring us all in for?” Poison asks, straight to the point. Pony draps themself on them, dramatically latching on to Poison’s neck. Party Poison isn’t all that tall, but Pony still has to get on their tip toes to manage that position.

“Oh sugar, I missed you!” They drawled, peppering Poison’s cheeks with a couple of kisses, leaving behind a trail of playful purple lipstick stains. “I missed you all! I just wanna chat! It’s dreadfully boring, being stuck undercover with all those dreadful, soulless Dracs! They have no sense of humour!”

“Well, how did you possibly survive?”

Without further ado, Show Pony dives into a long winded story about their undercover op. They spoke about how they played pranks right under the exterminators' noses, from dying their uniforms a shade of bubble gum pink to various other shenanigans. They talked and talked and talked, and just like always, Jet Star finds himself enthralled with every word.

Show Pony goes on for hours, trying to fit months worth of material in a couple of hours. Cherri Cola eventually shows up, listening in on Show Pony’s stories, and appearing overwhelmingly disappointed in many of their life choices. 

Eventually, Show Pony gets up from the set of couches they had migrated to. They untangle themself from Party Poison’s lap and make a show of rolling onto Kobra Kid, who shoved his aviators off his eyes so everyone could see his annoyance at Show Pony’s attempt at being slick. Show Pony just laughs before getting up all the way.

“You know how I just told y’all that I stole Korse’s wallet while I was there?” They begin, their eyes glinting with mischief.

“Kind of hard to forget,” Kobra states.

“Well, I put that baby to use in a way other than just spending his savings on a lifetime supply of Mouse Kat keychains.” Show Pony began to skate out of the room, gracefully and fluidly making their strokes. “He left not only his carbon card, but also his key card. And let me tell you, having that high of a clearance in the database led to me, of course, abusing it.”

They slid back out, a thick Manila folder in hand. “Did you know that files that are ten years old or more remain as physical copies?”

They slink behind the couch Poison, Ghoul, and Kobra were all squished together on. With a gusto only Pony could drudge up, they set the folder on Kobra Kid’s lap. 

“What the hell is this?” Kobra asked, glancing up at Pony with a bemused expression.

“It’s your brother’s file! I managed to steal it while I was undercover!” Pony winked. “You better be grateful! I had to steal Korse’s card key to find this!”

The killjoys gathered around Kobra Kid, who seemed strangely nervous as he hesitantly began to flick through the file. Jet Star knows that Kobra and Poison aren’t related, but he’s not supposed to, and Ghoul doesn’t know. It’s a secret, and Kobra probably realises it’s about to get revealed.

“Did you know that the pornodroid model G4W was based on your brother? So weird…” Party Poison seemed strangely stiff at those words. Show Pony hummed as they spun around the group before leaning their weight on Party Poison, sitting on the arm of the couch. “Makes sense though, considering how much you look like him. But that model only lasted for barely a year. People thought that they were too human, because this was before they took away their ability to cry and developed those emotion suppressors they put in the droids nowadays.”

“Hey, wait.” Ghoul stops Kobra from flipping a paper and snatches it from the folder. “I know my reading skills are rusty and shit, but Party Poison’s birthday is weird.”

“What do you mean?”

“The birthdate makes them nearly ten years older than they say they are.” Ghoul frowns at Party Poison. “I thought you were twenty? This places you at twenty-eight!”

Show Pony glances between Ghoul and Party Poison. “Huh? How does Kobra Kid’s brother have anything to do with Party Poison?”

Ghoul sends Pony an incredulous look. “What? Party Poison is his sibling! They’re the same person?”

Kobra Kid seems to have given up, because he doesn’t even bother intervening in Show Pony’s next statement. “Oh, I see. Yeah, I mean Party Poison looks a lot like his brother ‘cause they’re the G4W model, so I can see why you made that assumption.”

“What?!” Ghoul yelled, and his head snapped so quickly back to face Party Poison and the Kobra Kid that Jet was nearly worried he had gotten whiplash. “What are they saying? You’re not actually siblings?”

Jet Star’s trying to process the implications. Party Poison isn’t Kobra’s sibling, he already knew that. But there was a droid made, based off of Kobra Kid’s missing sibling, and that meant Poison was… Poison was a droid?

“No,” Kobra admits. Party Poison looks absolutely horrified at the turn of events. “No, we’re not.”

There’s a pause, like Ghoul’s soaking in those simple words.

Ghoul suddenly lurches into action. He jumps away from the couch, jerking away from the venom siblings like he’s been burned. His eyes are narrowed, his brows angled, and his expression livid.

“What the hell? Why would you fucking lie about that!? I can’t believe I spent years with you people! What else are you lying about?”

“Calm down,” Party Poison tries, and Jet Star can see the fear in their eyes.

“No!” Ghoul whipped his fury to Poison. “No! Are you a droid? Is that what you are? Is that why you’ve been posing as siblings? Because- because Kobra Kid has some brother- some missing brother, and you’re- you’re based off him? You’ve been lying for years because you’re a droid?”

Party Poison looked ready to shut down. Ghoul was yelling, throwing his hands around as he speaks, a fury to his voice as his entire body shakes with rage.

“Party Poison might be a droid,” Kobra Kid begins, quietly, with a silent rage all of his own festering beneath his skin, “but I never lied about us being siblings. They’re my sibling, just not by blood.”

“A droid!” Ghoul rubs his face, exasperation dripping from that word. 

“Was that a secret?” Pony whispers to Cherri Cola. He was staring absently at Party Poison, a strange expression on his face. Jet knows why- Party Poison wears the same face as Kobra Kid’s brother, as the friend Cherri Cola served time with as an Original Killjoy. 

“Well, I certainly didn’t know that.”

“A droid!” Ghoul repeats, louder. “A droid! A droid is your sibling! Kobra, you’re so fucking stupid!”

Kobra lurches to his feet, fire in his eyes. “Don’t you-“

“That thing is just a hunk of metal! That’s a husk of plastic! That’s not your sibling! That’s a drone that’s going to kill us all, and you’ve been parading it as a friend for years! We could’ve all died! We could all still die if it turns on us!”

“Don’t talk about them like they’re a fucking object!”

“Well they’re not a fucking person! That thing has no soul and you invited it into our home! I can’t believe I fucking trusted you! I can’t believe I let you convince me that piece of junk was a person! It’s a sleeper cell and it’s going to get us killed!”

“Stop calling me an it and stop pretending I can’t understand you!” Party Poison screams. Jet Star tries to inch his way between the siblings and Ghoul, tries to stop an altercation from happening. Thank Destroya the Girl is with Newsagogo, learning about DJing and not listening in on this shitshow.

“Guys-“ Jet Star begins, but immediately gets cut off.

“Stay out of this!” Ghoul shrieks, and tries to push past against Jet Star. He jams his finger into Poison’s chest, his face a vivid red as anger radiates from his very core. “You fucking bastard! I can’t believe I trusted you! I can’t believe I let myself fall for your fucking scheme!”

“I’m your friend!”

“No, you’re not! You’re not human! You’re not my friend! Now that your identity’s been found out, are you gonna rat us all out to BLi? When’s your buddy Korse gonna bust through these walls and shoot us dead!?”

“I’m not a sleeper drone for BLi! I hate them! I would rather die than ever serve them!”

“You can’t fucking feel! Stop pretending that you’re anything more than glorified sex toy!”

“Don’t call me that!” Party Poison’s voice went shrill, and they shoved Ghoul. Jet Star tries to move back between them, but Ghoul pushed his way past and slammed right into Party Poison.

The two were sent sprawling to the ground. Kobra Kid jumped into the fight, and the three of them began wrestling each other, Fun Ghoul screaming and Party Poison shouting at him to “Get off! Get off!”

Fun Ghoul pulled out his knife. Jet Star screamed at him to stop and tried to grab him, tried to pull the kid off Party Poison, but Ghoul had too tight of a grip on Poison’s arms, and he had tangled himself between their legs.

“You were never my friend! You’re just a fucking machine who plans on having all of us killed to serve your master! You’re just a sex toy who’s being repurposed! You’re not human! You’re not human!”

“Stop it!” Party Poison screams right back, shrieking and flailing and trying to buck Fun Ghoul off of them. There’s terror in their tone, and there’s a wild haze in their eyes. Fun Ghoul doesn’t get off them, and just keeps screaming.

Jet Star joins the fray and tries to wrestle Fun Ghoul off them. Jet Star is extremely strong, but rage fueled adrenaline is coursing through Ghoul’s veins, and he remains tightly latched onto Party Poison. Kobra decks Fun Ghoul, but he barely even flinches as he digs his nails in Party Poison’s arms.

Before Show Pony and Cherri Cola manage to come over to try to help Jet Star, Ghoul raises his knife up high and slices Party Poison’s arm. Party Poison screams, their voice shrill and high and absolutely terror filled. Fun Ghoul tries to cut them again, but Show Pony and Cherri Cola drag him off of Poison.

Fun Ghoul spouts obscenities as he struggles, clawing and writhing in their hold. Party Poison is still screaming as blood drips down their arm, as it stains the dusty floorboards. That’s when Jet sees it, the same time as Ghoul.

“Look at it!” Ghoul screams. “Look at all those fucking wires! Look at all that metal!”

Sliced wires are exposed from the cut, and Jet Star realises he’s never seen so deep into Party Poison’s wounds before. This is why Kobra Kid insists on patching up Poison himself- this is why he never let Jet help. This is why he got kicked out of the operating room when Cherri had to treat all of Poison’s burn wounds.

It takes a deep cut to manage to get past the fake fleshy muscles of a droid and expose the actual, technical wirings underneath. Most blaster shots don’t manage to singe that far down, because it doesn’t have to be deep into the skin to be fatal.

Fun Ghoul lashes out again, waving his knife soaked in Party Poison’s blood. His eyes are dark, and there’s fury in the words he spits out next. “You’re not human! You’re just a fucking robot without a soul!”

Party Poison isn’t crying. Jet Star slides over to their side. Kobra Kid is being held back by Cherri, trying to drag him away before Kobra strangles Ghoul. Show Pony is barely managing the terror in their arms by themselves.

Party Poison’s face is red and they keep sniffling but they don’t cry even though they’re in a shit ton of pain. They moan and they whimper and they mutter to themselves as Jet Star takes a good look at the wound, struggling to remember proper medical procedures.

Party Poison suddenly sits back up. Jet tried to push them back down, but Party Poison shakes him off. Their eyes look like tiny flames, reminding him of the fiery glow their hair develops in the haze of a sun set.

“I'm not a sex toy! I have a fucking soul!” Poison screams back. They try to get back up, they try to move towards Ghoul but they slip in their own blood. “I’m human! I’m human!”

“Oh, you think you’re so human, don’t you!?” Ghoul screams. Party Poison is shaking, and Ghoul pushes himself right up to them, nearly managing to escape from Show Pony’s hold as he practically lunges. “Cry for me then! Cry for me, if you’re so human! Cry!”

“That’s not fair,” Party Poison whispers and Jet Star can see that they want to, they desperately want to cry. Their voice cracks and he can hear them choking on a sob and their eyes are red and puffy but no tears spill from their cheeks. There’s nothing.

“You can’t even do that,” Ghoul spits. “Batteries don’t bleed and robots don’t cry.”

Party Poison is shaking with anger, but Jet Star can also see sorrow written within them. They don’t cry, but they still emote just as perfectly as any other person. They’re still feeling, still expressing like they always have. They have a soul, and right now, it’s bleeding.

“I can’t help it!” Party Poison snaps. “That’s not fair! You know it’s not fair!”

“If you’re so human, then you should be able to cry! Everyone can cry. But you don’t feel like us. You’re not real like us. Stop pretending!”

“Shut up!” 

“No!”

“That’s enough, Ghoul!” Jet Star yells. Ghoul whips his head to Jet, his eyes wide. Jet doesn’t yell, never yells, but god fucking damn it, he just watched Ghoul stab Poison, just watched Kobra kick the shit out of Ghoul. This is getting out of hand.

“You know we can’t trust it!” Ghoul hisses. 

“Stop calling my sibling an it!” Kobra screeches, flailing violently to get Cherri to loosen his hold.

“Stop calling that thing your sibling!”

“Stop calling me a thing!” Poison wailed. “I’m not a thing! I’m not a thing!”

“You’re a soulless sex toy whose only purpose in life is to follow peoples directions! You don’t care what they are! You don’t care who gets hurt! Your job is to serve, you fucking dildo!”

Party Poison screams. They shriek and they lunge at Ghoul. Jet Star grabs their arms and wrestles them back, and Party Poison is all but crying, choking on their own sobs. “Don’t call me that! Don’t call me that! Don’t call me that!”

“You’re nothing!”

“Shut up!” Kobra screams.

“You’re a heartless, cheap imitation of a human made in a factory to do BLi’s bidding! You can’t feel! You can’t love! You’re just a bunch of wires taped together!”

“Stop!” Poison moans.

“Korse is always after you! I bet he’s your owner, huh? You serve him, don’t you! Why don’t you crawl back to him?! Why don’t you go back to him and do what you were made to do!”

“Ghoul, you better shut up!” Show Pony warned. Show Pony’s voice was laced with vile, a sound no ones ever heard before.

“You’re just a sex toy! You’re a fucking object! Stop thinking you’re not! You’re not human!”

“Why can’t I be human!” Party Poison shrieks back. “Why not?! All this time you treated me as one, you believed I was one before you knew I was a droid! What makes me so different from you!? What makes you human, huh? What, is it your personality, your uniqueness? I have that! Is it the ability to feel pain and bleed? I can do that! Is it your morals, your ability to have emotions? I have that too!” Party Poison is so close to crying, but tears still don’t streak down their chin. Their voice cracks and bleeds all kinds of emotions. “I’m just like you! How am I not human? Because I don’t have real flesh? Because my organs are different than yours? Because I have a mechanical heart? Why does that matter?”

“You’re not human,” Fun Ghoul shouts right back, “because you can’t fear death! You’re an asshole for thinking you can pretend to be something better than you are! You can’t die like us! Everything we do is a huge risk, but not for you! If you ‘die’, you just become a broken toy! You can get fixed and come back! Fuck you!”

“Fuck you!” Party Poison screams. “Fuck you! That’s not true at all! You know something? Pornodroids are made exactly like everything else in Battery City- they’re made to be replaced! Droids aren’t made to last a long time- they’re made to eventually break! I have a lifetime of seven years, maybe ten if we really push it! And I already spent three of those with some bastard back in Battery City! I have an experation date- you have a natural life! You could theoretically live till you’re eighty and then some! I have maybe three years, maybe six! And you know what?”

Party Poison stares Ghoul dead in the eye as they move closer and closer until Party’s chest is an inch away from Ghoul’s. Neither are willing to back down, and the fires burning with both of them refuse to smother.

“I'm an old model. When I break, I’m likely to be thrown in the dumpster and used as parts for a new line. And even if I’m not, even if miraculously, someone salvaged me and turns me back on and saves me, it doesn’t matter. Because I’ll have to be reprogrammed. And if BLi gets a hold of me? They’ll turn me into the perfect, submissive living sex toy they want! They’ll erase me! I’d rather die ten thousand deaths ten be what I was five years ago! A thoughtless sex toy!”

“You never stopped being one! All your emotions, all your thoughts- they’re not yours! BLi programmed you! They made you! And you’re just a bunch of codes and wires stuffed together, made to pretend to be a human so assholes in Battery City can jack off! You’re still just a thoughtless sex toy!”

Party Poison breaks free from Jet Star’s grip. Blood is still gushing from their arm. “What more do you want from me? I bleed! I feel pain! I have emotions! What do you want?”

Ghoul lashes his knife at Poison. “I want you fucking dead.”

Kobra Kid hisses out threats. Jet Star tries to pull Poison back. Show Pony kicks Ghoul’s leg and tightens their grip. 

And Party Poison?

Party Poison chokes back a sob and decks Ghoul straight in the face.

Ghoul spits at them. His blood hits Poison’s neck.

Poison seems completely overwhelmed.

“Sex toy!” Ghoul screams.

Party Poison doesn’t say a single word as they dash down the hallway, sobs heaving in their chest as they slam the front door.

-

Party Poison disappears.

Jet Star knows they’re on a drive. They’re the one that drove everyone to the shack, and the trans am is currently missing from its parking spot. That does nothing to sedate his nerves- in fact, it makes him even more anxious.

Dr. D eventually came out of the recording room to find the remains of the chaos that had just unfolded. Show Pony was still holding on to Ghoul, Cherri had let go of Kobra but still had a hand firmly clamped on his shoulder, and Jet was staring at the door to the shack. 

“What, and I want a full answer here, the hell did I manage to miss?” 

His eyes glance from Ghoul to the blood stain on the floor and then to the blood on Jet’s hands. He gives each one of them an expectant look, but they all remain deathly quiet. Ghoul’s staring numbly at the blood spot- he’s still scowling, but all the fight seems to have left him.

“Well,” Jet Star begins. “Ghoul stabbed Party Poison.”

Ghoul’s head snapped to Jet. “Yeah, after we found out Party Poison’s a fucking drone.”

Dr. D lifted an eyebrow. “Start it from the top, girls.”

“Show Pony accidentally told everyone that Party Poison was a pornodroid,” Kobra Kid summarized, glaring at Pony. “Ghoul freaked the fuck out and attacked Party Poison, stabbed them, and called them a bunch of fucking names. Party Poison ran away.”

“Huh.” Dr. D hums. “Well, clean up that blood. I’m real tired of all these stains around here.”

“That’s it?” Show Pony seems surprised.

“I don’t think I need to give a lecture nor advice. The only things you can do is listen to your heart, but also listen to others.” Dr. D glanced at Ghoul. “I think the answer to this problem is clear.”

Dr. D spins around his wheelchair and begins to move down the hallway. Jet Star tags behind him, listening to the others chat. Show Pony throws a rag at Ghoul’s face. “Clean up your mess.”

“Do you need something, Jet?”

Jet follows Dr. D into the recording room, watching as he stacks the Paramore CDs and begins to move them to their proper place. He stands there idly for a moment, thinking.

“Are pornodroids human?”

“You’ve lived with one for nearly three years. I think you already know the answer.”

“But can machines have souls?”

“When you look at Party Poison, what do you see?”

Jet frowns. “What do you mean?”

“What was your first impression of them?”

“They were like fire.” Jet Star remembers that night in the bar with clarity. He remembers the neon lights dancing across their face, casting their eyes in shadows and lighting up their red, red hair. It looked like fire, and Jet wanted nothing more than to touch it and see if it burned as hot as they did. “There was something burning within them. Something lurking beneath. They were tired, but they wouldn’t ever go down without a fight. And they really cared for their brother.”

“Doesn’t that sound pretty human to you?” Dr. D glances at Jet. “But you’re not the one who needs convincing.”

“No.” Jet watches him. “You’re taking this information in stride.”

“I always knew Party Poison had a bulletproof heart.” There’s a smile on his lips.

“You knew they were a droid, didn’t you?” Sly old man.

Dr. D shrugs. “Well, they wear the same face as one of my old friends.”

Oh. “Isn’t that weird? Seeing Kobra’s brother with them?”

“They’re not the same person.” Dr. D listens to the sounds of a fight break out in the other room. It seems like Kobra Kid and Ghoul are fighting. Jet glances at Dr. D, but he makes no indication that they should go help. “Kobra Kid’s brother was quiet. He was shy. He was so, so tired. He’d been through war, after all. Party Poison’s louder than life. They’re not shy, they’re not afraid to talk and be heard. They’re not the same person at all, except for their face.”

Dr. D slips a CD out of its case. It’s from Mad Gear and The Missile Kid. He twirls it in his fingers. “They both have that spark though. That drive to help- that compassion and empathy for others. A bleeding heart, too full and always ready to burst. They both want to be something great, do something good. But I think everyone has that, or has that capability. Everyone wants to do good.”

He makes eye contact. “All souls innately want to help others. It’s a trait found in all of humanity. But some choose to tamp it down. Not all humans are human. And not everything that’s not flesh and bones and otherwise ‘human’ isn’t human. You see?”

Jet Star nods. 

“Stay human, Jet Star.” 

-

Jet hears the trans am pull up. Ghoul locked himself in a closet, refusing to speak to anyone. Cherri Cola and Show Pony are sleeping. Kobra Kid is pacing around the kitchen area, clearly scared out of his mind.

They glance at each other. Kobra Kid bites his nails at the sound of the engine cutting off. He points at the door. “Talk to them.”

“But don't you want to-“

“They need someone who will listen.” Kobra shakes his head. “I’m too… I’m too angry. And I don’t want to rile them up. Go.”

Kobra’s vibrating, and Jet Star can see the building tension within him. There’s still a bitter rage in his soul, something deep and bitter taking root in his body. 

Jet Star doesn’t say anything else. He doesn’t need to.

-

The air is cold.

Desert nights are always frigid. The desert only work in extremes- there is no natural maternal love from the sandy biome. Just cold nights and boiling days.

Party Poison’s sitting on the steps, their face buried in their arms. Their chest is heaving, and Jet knows that even though time has passed, sorrow has not. They are crying without tears.

Party Poison juts their head up at the sound of footsteps. Jet Star made sure to hit every squeaky floorboard he could, not wanting to sneak up on them. Party Poison doesn’t glance at Jet Star, doesn’t acknowledge his presence even as he sits right next to them, just inches apart.

Jet Star doesn’t know how to ask the questions that clog his throat. He doesn’t know how to approach Party Poison when he can barely comprehend all that he’s learned. 

He sits beside them, both blanketed by the darkness of the night. The glow from the lights inside illuminates the both of them, and Jet Star watches the light reflect off their skin. It’s quiet between them, as Party Poison keeps their focus on anywhere but him and Jet Star tries to come up with something to say.

Jet Star tries not to stare at them, he really does. But all he can think about is how many signs he missed, how this changes nothing but explains everything. How it shouldn’t change everything, but it really does.

He stares at their face, and he notices its perfection. Their eyes are perfectly spaced, their nose is perfectly shaped, their mouth is just the right size, and their entire face is completely symmetrical. But Jet Star begins to count the imperfections, begins to stare at the things that make Party Poison more human. He stares at the scars that blister their face, some small like the cut above their eyebrow, and one large one that travels their entire face, over the bridge of their nose, a strange slash.

“I didn’t know droids could scar.” It wasn’t what he wanted to say, but the words tumbled out anyway.

Almost unconsciously, Party Poison touched the scar across their nose. They averted their eyes from the sky to the ground. “They’re not supposed to. They have better healing than humans do, ‘cause nobody wants easily damaged goods.”

The words chill Jet Star to the bone, but he doesn’t speak. Party Poison touches the scars around their eyes, a litter of tiny cuts and angry pink lines. It’s an old, old scar. 

“Under the right care, the wounds should heal without a trace, but…” Party Poison frowns. “Well, I guess I wasn’t cared for well.”

Jet Star leans in. Poison keeps their eyes away from his, steadily at the ground. Hesitantly, Jet Star reaches out and touches their cheek. Party Poison doesn’t move, doesn’t even breathe as he brushes away the hair and gently rubs the end of the scar across their eyes.

“You’re an older model,” Jet whispers. Party Poison remains silent. “Why can’t you cry like the rest of the others? It’s only the recent pornodroids that can’t cry.”

Poison sucks in a deep breath. They guide Jet’s hand until it’s touching the entire scar. “I... people can buy droids to take home, to keep. Only high officials. BLi will look the other way, if you’ve got a high enough status. I was a stay at home droid. And… I cried too much. My official didn’t like that… he gave me this scar.”

Jet Star burned with anger, but that’s not what Poison needs. He tries to keep his voice steady when he whispers, “Who did this?”

“Korse.”

It’s not a surprise. It’s not. The way the two dance on the battlefield, the fear Party Poison had their very first meeting, the odd leniency Korse gave them and his bizarre obsession with Poison… Jet Star wasn’t surprised. But the name still made his spine shudder and grow cold, made his stomach churn, made him feel slightly sick.

“You were Korse’s,” Jet Star repeats, because the words feel strange to hear and even stranger to speak.

Party Poison looks overwhelmed with shame. Their eyes remain glued to the ground, so unlike the high and mighty confidence that usually rolls off them. “Yes. In that file, apparently he was the one who captured Kobra Kid’s brother, who I’m apparently based off. He… was part of the reason why my line was even developed.”

Oh, those were some gross implications. Jet Star nealy wants to cry for Party Poison and for Kobra’s sibling, because by the Witch, that’s disgusting. “Oh.”

“Yeah… he…” Party Poison’s face is growing red, and they’re sniffling slightly. “Korse was too rough with me.” Party Poison rubs their eyes. “Sometimes he’d get into these violent bouts, when he’d been drinking again, and when he did, he’d get really rough with me. So sometimes I would end up crying, ‘cause it hurt, he hurt me... Korse didn’t like that. Said it made me too human, to cry in pain. So one time, he broke my eyes.”

Jet Star feels nauseous at that. Party Poison’s eyes are carefully lowered to their nails, and for the first time, Jet Star notices their eyes don’t match. One is a shade darker than the other. “He broke a bottle of beer and then slashed at my eyes. He always felt bad afterwards, after the damage was dealt. So he tried to fix them, but his hands were always used to kill and maim, not fix. He wasn’t good with machines. So he fucked up my tear ducts, and he couldn’t fix it.”

Jet Star pulls Party Poison into his arms. Party Poison quivers slightly, and hugs him back. The night is deathly, deathly still, the only sounds for miles being Party Poison’s strained breaths. 

“It took time,” Poison began, softly, “but I eventually broke free from Korse. I left him, because he broke that last straw, and I decided that I was better off dead than with him. I fled to the desert. That same night, I ran into Kobra Kid.”

Their voice is so small, so tired. Jet Star strains to listen, knowing he’s only going to hear this once. “Kobra thought I was a ghost. I was his dead brother. He… he pitied me, and we escaped together. We got rescued by Newsagogo and Hot Chimp- they found us lying on the side of the road. They know I’m a droid. Show Pony knows because when they saved me, they were staying the night at the club. It wasn’t really a secret that I was a droid, there. Didn’t have to be.

“So I worked as a Neon Angel. I mean, I am a pornodroid… might as well do what they do, for some money. Kobra Kid became a crash queen, and we lived. And then we met you and Ghoul and…”

Party Poison buried their face in his jacket. “I didn’t want to keep a secret. I didn’t. But Ghoul hates droids, hates them so much, and I… I didn’t know what you’d think, and so many people in the desert hate everything and anything from BLi, including droids, and I just… we’d found a family and I didn’t want to be the reason it all fell apart and now here we are…”

“It’s not your fault.” Jet’s voice is firm. “You can’t help what you are.”

“I guess not.” Poison curls up, their eyes trained on the stars. “But Destroya… I wish I was human.”

“You are. Don’t listen to Ghoul. Don’t listen to him, because he can’t wrap his mind around the idea that flesh doesn’t equal human. What matters isn’t what you’re made of, be it carbon or aluminium, or whatever. What matters is if you can think, if you can dream. What matters is you think of doing things, good things, helping. If you dream of being better, of doing better, of being helpful to those in need. What matters is that you have empathy and compassion and the ability to act, to do what’s right. It doesn’t matter if you have bones of calcium or bones of neon or souls of stardust or souls of iron. What matters is your ability to love.”

Jet Star tilts Poison’s head. They make eye contact, their eyes wide and nervous and vulnerable, something Jet’s never seen before. “That’s what makes you human.”

Party Poison doesn’t cry. But Jet knows in their heart of gold, they are.

-

Ghoul won’t talk to Party Poison, won’t even acknowledge they exist. Ghoul barely even recognises Kobra Kid. Things are even rocky between Ghoul and Jet, which really fucking hurts, because Ghoul’s become like a real brother to him.

Tensions are still running high between everyone. They go home, but Ghoul refuses to interact with any of them. He won’t admit that he’s wrong, he won’t listen to the other side of the argument, and he won’t fix anything.

Jet can see that this is tearing Party Poison apart. Because they were all one big family, all brothers and siblings and as thick as thieves. And now they’re not.

“Why does everyone hate each other?” The Girl asks Jet one day as he tries his hand at braiding her hair. Jet freezes, and glances over to the sight of Poison slumped in a booth, hands covering their face as Ghoul slams the door of the diner.

Jet takes a deep breath.

“You know what pornodroids are, right? You’ve met a couple before.”

“Yeah! They’re robots BLi made, but like, they got feelings!” The Girl nods enthusiastically, and Jet has to let go of her hair or risk pulling out a chunk. “Yeah! I met one at Hot Chimp’s club! She said that I was cute! And she gave me candy!”

Jet remains quiet for a moment, thinking how best to phrase this. Is there really an easy way? “Party Poison is a pornodroid.”

The Girl wrangles herself out of Jet Star’s arms. She twists and turns until she’s facing him, her eyes wide. “No way!”

“Yeah, it’s true.”

The Girl’s eyes light up. “Woah! That’s so cool! They’re made of metal! They showed me a comic book the other day and there was a robot in it that could shoot lasers from his eyes! Do you think they could do that, too?”

“No, they’re not really that type of, uh… droid.”

She pouts. “Aw!” She glances over at Party Poison, still slumped in their seat. A thoughtful expression crosses her face. “But wait, why is everyone mad about that?”

“A lot of people in the zones don’t trust pornodroids. They think they’re evil, because BLi made them. Ghoul thinks that Party Poison can’t be trusted because they’re made by BLi.”

The Girl frowns even harder. “But… Party’s been a robot this whole time?”

“Yep.”

“And they never did anything evil! Party couldn’t ever do anything evil.” She nods, sounding completely confident. “Yeah! They saved me, remember! They love me! And they love all of you! We’re a big family! Party can’t betray us! Party can’t be bad.”

“Ghoul doesn’t really see it like that.”

“He’s wrong.” She puffs out her cheeks. “Not all droids are bad! They’re always super nice to me! And it’s not good to make…. make generous… general…”

“Generalizations.”

“Generalizations about people!” The Girl crosses her arms. “Party’s too nice to be evil! They nearly cry when they read me sad bedtime stories! I don’t understand.”

The Girl understands everything better than Ghoul does. It astounds Jet that a five year old can get this better than him. “Neither do I, Girlie.”

“It’s not fair.”

“No, it’s not.”

Jet glances up in time to meet Poison’s eye. They’re not exactly being quiet about this topic- in case Party Poison didn’t want the Girl to know, Jet wanted them to be able to jump in.

Party Poison offers him a small smile. 

“I think you should go give them a hug,” he whispers, conspiratorial. The Girl lights up at the idea. 

“They do look sad, and Ghoul seemed really mad.” She bobs her head. “Okay!”

She scrambled off Jet’s lap and scurries across the diner. Jet watches as she bounces into the booth Party Poison’s situated in, jumping into them as she scurried up the cracked leather. She pulled them into a tight hug, and Party Poison froze at her touch.

“I don’t care what you are,” the Girl states resolutely. “Because I know what you are. You’re my sibling.”

Party Poison picks up the Girl, settles her into their lap, and hugs her just as fiercely. They bury their face in her hair as they hold her tight, and Jet Star can see the way their chest is heaving. They can’t cry, but he knows they’d be blubbering if they could.

-

Jet Star’s trying his hand at fixing up the trans am’s motor when Fun Ghoul comes sliding into his view. The radio the whole gang uses broke a few days ago, so Jet’s been sitting there in silence as he worked. 

“Jet Star.”

Ghoul’s voice quivered, catching Jet’s attention. There was still a tension between everyone in the group, still an underlying anger, but Jet knew now was the time to set things aside. He worked his way out from underneath the car, wiping his forehead and smearing oil across his face before meeting Fun Ghoul’s eyes.

“Cherri Cola’s missing.”

Jet Star drops his wrench. “What? What do you mean?”

“Dr. D just sent out a report. The Girl and I managed to catch it while we were fixing up the radio. He said Cherri Cola went on a drive to Hot Chimp’s club, but no one at Bullets ever saw him arrive. They think he got intercepted by a Drac patrol.”

“But no body?”

“No body.” Ghoul rubs his eyes. “It’s been a week.”

Jet Star doesn’t even know what to say. “Fuck. We should go visit Dr. D. I’m sure he and Pony aren’t taking things well.”

“No. Death said to stay low but keep our eyes peeled. He doesn’t want us hightailing it over in case we get spotted by Dracs. He doesn’t want his radio station getting compromised.”

“I see.” Ghoul sits beside Jet in the sand. “Did the others hear this?”

“I’ll tell them.” 

Something is brewing in these sands. Jet Star doesn’t need Dr. D’s mystical sixth sense to know that a storm is coming.

-

“Tell me about your brother,” Ghoul demands one day. It takes everyone off guard- after all, Ghoul’s still pissed at Kobra for lying about Party Poison and for ‘endangering’ everyone.

It’s breakfast time. Jet Star and Party Poison are situated on the same side of the booth (morning is the only time Party Poison willingly allows themself to be touched fully by other people. Jet Star wonders now if this isn’t an effect of having been under Korse’s control and a Neon Angel. The only persons they tolerate are Kobra and Pony, though Pony might be more of an exasperated reluctance than an exception). Party Poison’s practically falling asleep in their cereal, and Jet Star isn’t much chipper.

Kobra Kid glances at Ghoul wearily, who slides in the booth he’s sitting in. The Girl scoots to the side, and now all five of them are crammed into the same booth, just like the old days. It makes something in Jet Star’s heart twist a little at the thought.

Kobra Kid takes a loud bite of his stale cereal, crunching it around. The Girl’s watching the two of them with wide eyes, her Fruity Pebbles forgotten. Poison keeps their eyes trained on their bowl. There’s a strange tension as Kobra continues to crunch loudly, as if the two of them were somehow arguing without words.

Finally, Kobra lets out a quiet sigh. “What do you want to know?”

“Just… what was he like? Who was he?”

“He was really shy. Like, painfully so. Very awkward, very tired. All he wanted was to spend his days lurking in his room, alone, and probably paint. He was very imaginative, always told me stories about heroes who would take down BLi, about how two siblings will bring about a revolution. He loved to tell stories, loved to get lost in his head. He was always kind and nice to me even though we were twelve years apart in age and I was a real annoying kid.”

Kobra Kid pushes his cereal around, his eyes now hazy with memories. “He got drafted into the Helium Wars when he was sixteen. I was four, and I remember watching him get sent off. BLi was so desperate for soldiers they were picking up kids left and right. And… I don’t know what he saw, I don’t know what he did, but I know it was nothing good. He saw everything BLi had to offer- he saw mass atrocities committed on grand scales, saw all the ugly colours and true faces the world had. It changed him.

“He became a revolutionary, along with four other veterans, to a meaningless war. They escaped into the desert and became heroes. You know, the gang Dr. D and Cherri Cola were in.”

“Your real brother was one of the true original killjoys?” Ghoul didn’t hide his shock. He was staring at him, mouth openly agape. Jet had heard this all before, but Ghoul didn’t know the whole story. 

“Yep.” Kobra glanced at Ghoul, tired. “He was. And I never would have guessed that such a tired, soft spoken guy would have ever led a gang of revolutionists who would spark a decade long fight against the tyrannical mega corporation that still sinks its claws into the desert they bled and died for.”

“What happened to him?”

“I don’t know.” Kobra rubbed his eyes. “After the deaths of two of his comrades-“ Ghoul noticeably stiffened- “he just disappeared. Everyone thinks he got kidnapped, probably by Korse. I don’t know what I’d like to think, but I just prefer the idea that wherever he is, he’s hopefully at peace.”

Ghoul glanced over at Poison, who was staring at Kobra Kid with a sad expression. Ghoul was staring at their face, and Jet couldn’t help but wonder what he was doing, what he was thinking.

“You think he’s dead?” Ghoul asked, not softly but not unkindly.

“It’s been twelve years. It’s hard to think he’s still being captured by BLi- they would have gotten all the info they wanted out of him by now. But I don’t want to think about that.”

Kobra Kid silently offered his cereal to the Girl. She snatched it up and began to eat like a famished wolf. Rations have been getting low again. 

“He was a hero,” Kobra finally stated. “A good guy. But the good guys always die and the bad guys always win. I don’t want us to become heroes.”

“Then what do you want to be?” Party Poison’s voice is fragile.

“Killjoys.”

-

Dr. D’s traffic report goes off. A new list of dead gets spoken, and Jet finds himself straining to see if there’s anyone he recognises. Seems like everybody keeps getting picked off- either from BLi’s steady improvement or from just rookie mistakes. It’s kind of frightening.

It’s Friday, which means Cherri Cola should be spouting out his tri-weekly poetry in his allocated poetry corner segment. Every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, Cherri Cola always gives a reading to either a poem he wrote or a poem he read and thought was interesting enough to share.

Jet Star tries to ignore the pressure building in his chest at the thought. He was never a big fan of poetry, but damn, he misses Cherri’s stupid rhyme schemes and edgy verses. For a man with a shot deadlier than a sniper’s, he sure was pretty soft.

Dr. D signs off in his usual cool way, and music fills up the station. Everyone must be feeling as blue as Jet Star- nobody gets excited when Mad Gear’s new EP starts blaring.

“Damn, we haven’t heard any poetry from Cherri Cola in a while,” Party Poison mumbles, a strange expression crossing their features. “Must’ve hit another writer’s block. Remember that one time he didn’t get on air for months and we all thought he straight up died but it turned out he was just sad and couldn’t think of any good poetry so he decided to just hide in Dr. D’s basement? I think about that sometimes.”

A silence hangs heavy over the entire diner. Party Poison perks up, appearing alert at the tension. They’re not completely oblivious. “Uh, did I say something wrong?”

“Didn’t Ghoul tell you? Dr. D called a week ago, and Ghoul’s the one who was here to answer it.” Jet Star’s voice shook a little. “Cherri got captured by a squad of Dracs. He’s….”

“Dusted.” Ghoul keeps his eyes on the table, not daring to look at Party Poison a few booths away.

“What? You- you can’t be….” They flick their head over to Ghoul, a small fire in their eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You’re a droid,” Ghoul drawls. “I didn’t think you cared.”

Party Poison jolts up from their seat, smashing their fist on the table. The noise startled everyone, but Ghoul just glares from his seat a few feet away. “You don’t get to make that call!”

“Stop being such a dick,” Kobra hisses, spinning in his seat to face Ghoul. “I can’t fucking understand why you hate Poison so much. They were your fucking friend! They still are! Don’t be a fucking dick with the death of our other friend!”

“You’re not my friend,” Ghoul states, waving a wrench at Poison. “You don’t even feel remorse over Cherri, do you?”

“Of course I do!” Party Poison sounds strange, and emotions keep flittering over their face like they can’t decide what to feel. “Of course I fucking do.”

There’s something malicious in the way Ghoul bites out, “I don’t see you crying over it.”

“Shut up!” Posion stalks over to Ghoul, who’s still sitting in his seat. Ghoul juts his chin up and stares Poison dead in the eyes, unperturbed by their close proximity. “You know damn well that’s not fair!”

“It’s not fair to be lied to and have all of your friends’ lives endangered because someone couldn’t get over the fact that their brother’s fucking dead.”

“Leave Kobra alone!”

“Cherri Cola’s fucking dead, Poison.” Ghoul pushes the head of his wrench into Poison’s chest. “And trust me, I wish it was you instead.”

Poison seems to freeze. Ghoul’s words are icy, venomous and vile. “Ghoul…”

“You can’t even cry over the death of your best friend. I guess it wouldn’t be fair to trade Cherri’s life for yours- that implies you’re human enough for there to be a life for a life.”

“You bastard-“

“You don’t even care that he’s missing. Because you’re still just a mindless fucking drone. You’re just Korse’s little sex toy! So go on, cry! Cry if you care about Cherri! Go on, sex toy!”

“Ghoul.”

Jet’s tone is freezing. It almost makes Ghoul look apprehensive. But the damage has been done, the words have already been spoken. The Girl is staring at the two in horror, Kobra Kid is grimacing, his face flushing red with anger. 

“Fuck you!” Poison screams. They start to back up, their legs shaking as they move away from Ghoul. “Fuck you! I’m gonna find Cherri Cola. I’m gonna fucking save him! Fuck you!”

Party Poison bolts from the diner. Ghoul sneers at him, standing up and shouting after him, “Yeah, go on! Go back to Korse! Go back to Korse!”

Jet’s fist hits Ghoul’s face before he can even process what he’s doing. Ghoul stumbles into the booth, looking stunned by the events. Jet shakes his fist.

“God, you’re being such an apathetic prick!” 

“It’s not my fault they can’t handle the truth.” Ghoul rubs his cheek, annoyed. “Whatever. They’ll probably come crawling back soon enough.”

Jet Star swallows his rage. He can deal with Ghoul later. He needs to go after Party Poison.

-

Poison took the trans am. 

Jet Star can’t track them. They’re long gone, and Jet has no idea where the hell they plan on going. Poison’s letting their emotions guide them, not logic.

Jet Star hopes to the Witch above they’re just going to Dr. D’s radio shack.

-

Party Poison disappears for days. Jet Star and Kobra Kid try to get in contact with Dr. D, and he solemnly informs them that they never appeared.

Newsagogo and Hot Chimp are quick to reveal that they never came to their club. Show Pony hasn’t seen them while on their missions. It’s like they just disappeared off the face of the earth.

Ghoul says this is a good thing: “We don’t need that fucking drone around to report us to BLi and get us killed.” But even he seems a bit unnerved at their disappearance, seems a bit nervous. Jet knows that despite everything he’s said, despite all the hate he’s been lashing out, Ghoul still cares. Why else would he be staying up late, watching out the window, waiting?

It doesn’t matter. Party Poison’s disappeared. And just like the first time, when Poison found the Girl, there’s absolutely no trace.

-

Jet’s tinkering with the radio again, fucking around with the signals. It’s late at night, and everyone else has managed to fall asleep (although, that’s a rather loose term for the fitful patches of unconsciousness everyone’s been drifting in and out of). There’s no one awake in the diner, and it’s just a moment between Jet Star, the radio, and the Phoenix Witch.

The radio broke a few hours earlier. Kobra Kid got into one of his tempers, and in his escalating argument with Ghoul, he smashed the radio against Ghoul’s head. Which means Ghoul is sporting a nasty couple of cuts and they’re down one radio.

God, he hopes the Girl is doing alright. Jet’s already torn from all the infighting. He can only imagine how the Girl feels, watching them spiral into something dark and dangerous.

He’s fiddling with the knobs, trying to set the frequencies back in tune. So far, all he’s getting is static feedback, and it’s frying his already strained nerves.

He gives a last twist and throws down his screwdriver. “Damn it all!” Nothing's fucking working! Nothing’s going right, and who’s to fucking blame?

“-Hotel, 10 pm, sharp.”

Jet startles at the voice. He sits back up, listening intensely. He knows that voice. How could he not?

“If you’re not here, then I’ll be slitting your friend’s throat.”

Korse. It’s Korse. It’s fucking Korse. He managed to snag into his frequency. Oh, god.

“Oh, don’t worry, Baldy,” Poison sneers. “I wouldn’t miss this date for the world.”

“Punctuality is imperative. Paradise Hotel.”

The radio crackled back to static.

Jet Star’s heart is pounding. Electricity is coursing through him like the power in the radio box sitting in front of him. Party Poison. Korse.

Paradise Hotel.

Fuck.

Party Poison’s going to try and make a deal with Korse, or just straight up fight him. Poison’s going to fucking die. 

Jet Star doesn’t think as he grabs the keys to Kobra’s motorcycle. He doesn’t stop to think that maybe, just maybe, he should enlist for some back up, that he should go wake up Kobra Kid before heading out. He doesn’t think to do anything smart- the only thing he’s thinking of is Party Poison and how they’re about to get themself killed.

It’s nine o’clock. Paradise Hotel, which stands on the opposite side of the same zone as Hotel Oblivion, is located in zone three. The diner is just on the outskirts of Zone Four. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Jet Star kicks up dust as he shoots off, breaking every goddamn speed limit he can. He can’t afford to be late, he can’t afford to be even a fraction of a second late, because that’s all it takes to fire off a gun and watch as Party Poison sinks to the ground, shot in the head or the heart or whatever. That’s all it takes.

Jet Star rides and rides and prays and prays.

-

The desert night is quiet as Jet Star skids to a stop at the side of the hotel. He glances at his watch, frantic over the time. 10:05. Fuck, he’s late, he’s _late_. Five minutes isn’t much time, but in a fire fight, in a brawl, it’s plenty of time to shoot someone dead. 

He tosses aside his helmet and glances around. It’s eerily silent, not a single creature stirring, but if he strained his ears just right, he could hear a couple of Dracs mingling towards the front. They’ve probably swarmed the front, trying to keep people out so Party Poison and Korse can make a deal or whatever the hell it is Poison’s trying to do.

Jet Star slinks around the hotel, trying to figure out a way inside. Dracs surrounded the front, and it would easily alert Korse that someone was trying to rescue Party Poison if a firefight busted out right near the main lobby. Sneaking in for a surprise attack was the only viable option, because Jet Star needed every inch he could take.

As he hit the middle of the very back, he noticed a light was on in one of the rooms. The shutters were snapped in half, and the window would be easy to see into. Jet Star hesitantly peeks his head up, glancing in time.

He catches sight of Korse and Party Poison with ease. Korse is shaking Party Poison by the head violently, with a sick smile on his face. Party Poison’s hair covered their face, hiding whatever emotions they were going through. Korse suddenly stopped in time to throw Party Poison into the dresser, smashing their head against the side of it. If Jet Star had any weaker of a stomach than what he had, he surely would have thrown up at the sight of his best friend limply collapsing to the ground. A pool of blood began to form, which glittered almost unnaturally in the dim lamp lights.

Korse crouched over Party Poison, practically straddling the droid. He cupped their face in his hands with the gentleness rivalled only by lovers. Party Poison flinched away violently, but Korse didn’t seem to care. He probably enjoyed it.

He stroked the sides of their cheeks with a feathery touch, gazing at them with a soft expression. Party Poison looked sick to their stomach, and Jet Star felt as awful as they looked. The most disconcerting thing about this entire situation was the lacking fire behind Party Poison’s eyes. They look so tired and weary and the usual determination that flared within seemed burnt out.

“I’ve told you time and time again,” Korse stated, leaning his lips over Party Poison’s ears. Party Poison recoiled at the close proximity, but Korse made sure to keep their head in place. “Who do you belong to?”

“No one,” Party Poison growled, and Jet Star saw a glimmer in those eyes.

Korse shook his head. Suddenly, he smacked Party Poison with such a ferocity Jet Star was certain Poison’s eyes went out of focus. A huge red handprint bloomed across their face, their usual rosy cheeks covered by the soon to be bruise.

“Who do you belong to?” Korse repeated, his voice deeper and more threatening than before.

Party Poison spit at him, their spit mingled with their blood.

Korse full on punched them this time, drawing blood from their nose. “You were made for me. You were made to please me. That is your only purpose in your insignificant life, do you understand? You think you have free will? You think you’re a person? You’re a glorified sex toy with no purpose other than to serve me. You’re not human.”

Party Poison can’t cry, Jet Star knows, but in that moment they almost look like they are. Their face is red, their nose sniffles, and they are clearly holding back a wail from the way their shoulders are shaking. They can’t cry, but God, it’s clear that they are.

Korse just sneers at them. “Look at you. You can’t even cry.”

Party Poison releases a very tiny choking sound as they weakly scratch against Korse’s arm.

“What kind of human are you if you don’t even feel?”

That’s Jet Star’s breaking point. Because this monster defiled his best friend so badly that they can’t even do the most basic function of most human beings. They can’t fucking cry. And now he’s mocking them for what he inflicted on them.

Jet Star doesn’t even think as he watches Korse pull Party Poison’s hair, forcing their head up before smashing it right down into the ground. He doesn’t think as he hears the sounds of Party Poison’s stifled sobs mingle with the sound of his gun charging. The only thing Jet Star sees in that moment when he pulls the trigger of his gun is red- Party Poison’s hair, the bloody halo of blood splayed beneath them, the red hand print on Poison’s face. 

The shot manages to singe Korse’s shoulder. Korse drops Party Poison completely to touch the burn on his side, and Party Poison quickly uses the distraction to take advantage of the situation. Party Poison kicks their knee right in Korse’s groin and shimmies out from underneath him. They scoot all the way to the other side of the room as Korse recovers, and that's when Jet Star comes crashing in through the window.

He landed right on top of a corpse on the bed next to the window, and Jet Star tries to ignore it in favour of the fight, his vision tunneling only on his friend. Party Poison has a knife in their hand, one dripping with freshly sliced blood, and Jet Star can see a slash of red blooming across Party Poison’s chest. Having been kicked to the side, Jet Star also notices Party Poison’s gun, a smoking husk of burnt plastic.

“Star!” Poison calls, and it isn’t a greeting despite the way Poison’s eyes light up at the sight. It’s a warning. Jet Star manages to dodge a nearly well timed punch from Korse, who’s stumbled back to life. Jet Star lets lose a few rounds of blaster fire, managing to snag his shoulder. It won’t do much damage, but the pain might distract them long enough.

“Run!” Jet Star yells, grabbing Poison’s wrist before dragging them across the room. He slams the door straight open, alerting some of the Dracs guarding the hallway. The Draculoids slow reaction time costs them, because by the time they’re reaching for their guns, Jet Star’s already seared burns into their chests and is flying by their dropping corpses.

Korse is thundering right behind them, shooting round after round. The lasers burn the sides of the walls, scorch the carpet in the aftermath of their foot falls, and nick their skin a couple of times. Jet Star struggles to get Party Poison to stay up to speed with them- Party Poison isn’t all together, he can tell that much just by looking at their blood splattered face, their shaky hands, and their glassy eyes.

They manage to reach the lobby of the Hotel, where not a single soul other than a couple of Dracs are in sight. The killjoys running this place were either exterminated or run out (it’s rather obvious which one it is from the fresh bloodstains on the carpet and the neon boots he sees peeking out from behind the old registration counter, but Jet’s trying to remain hopeful).

The Dracs quickly notice the approaching Killjoys and begin to shoot. Jet Star keeps a tight grip on Poison’s wrist as they weave their way through the firefight, with Jet Star firing back at the Dracs and Poison stabbing any that manage to wander too close. It’s a good system, working well for them as they inch closer and closer to the door, towards freedom, when a link in their chain bursts.

Korse manages to land a direct hit on Jet. A searing pain bursts through his shoulder, and his gun clatters to the ground. Poison kicks the gun back over to Jet and moves in front of him protectively, shielding him from Korse, who now looms over them as he points the barrel of the gun straight at Poison’s temple. Dracs are still shooting at them, and Jet unfortunately has to divide his attention between the last remaining Dracs and his friend.

Despite the way Poison’s hands shake, they otherwise betray no sense of fear as they stand down Korse. He just gives them the smallest of smiles, something plastic and manufactured.

“Come on now,” Korse begins. “We all know how this is going to end.”

“Yeah, with my knife shoved up your ass.”

“It’ll be easier if you just give up. If you come willingly, I can promise you a happier, better life. You’ll get reprogrammed, you’ll forget all the terrible memories of the desert and the rambunctious, plundering killjoys who’ve brought you so much pain. You’ll forget all about watching your friend Cherri Cola die right in front of you. We can go back to the old times, now.”

Korse inches forward, just so. Party Poison angrily jabs their knife towards him, and Jet Star cocks his gun, causing the mechanical buzz of electricity to hum threateningly.

“We’ll go back to how it should be. You, as a loyal servant, not some tragic rebel for a meaningless cause. Doesn’t that sound better? To go back to doing what you were made to do?”

Korse continues forward until he can reach out to touch Party Poison. Jet Star wants to help Poison, wants to shoot Korse dead in his tracks so he’ll never, never touch Poison again, but he can’t stop firing at the Dracs in front of him. He’s nearly done, just two more to go….

Korse’s hand cups Poison’s cheek, an action strangely tender given the predicament. Poison freezes, their knuckles turning white from how tight they’re gripping their knife. Their breath catches, a sound so minute in the all out battle happening, in the comparisons between laser fire and the sounds of bodies falling to the carpeted ground.

It makes Jet’s blood boil.

“It’s time to stop playing pretend,” Korse states, in a tone that’s more demanding than it is kind. ”Come home, Party Poison.”

The last Drac falls to the ground, a blistering burn marring its rib cage. Jet Star nearly pumps a fist in the air but restrains himself. He spins around and finds himself watching Korse gently pry away the knife from Poison’s hands. Poison’s frozen, stuck, probably being haunted by the past.

“There you go,” Korse purred. “Don’t you miss being submissive, not having to think? It was so much easier, not having emotions or friends or thoughts of rebellion or morals.”

Jet’s blood simmers.

His trigger finger acts before he even registers. The shot hits Korse square in the neck, drawing a ridiculous amount of blood. Korse stumbles back, clearly in agony. It won’t kill him, nothing will kill this heartless, android man, but it does take him off guard and temporarily immobilises him. And that’s all Jet can ask for in that moment (although he may certainly envision more violent outcomes).

He grabs Poison by the shoulders, who flinches violently at his touch, and tries to steer them away from the scene. Jet Star drags them along, ignoring the ache in his shoulder as he tries to break into a sprint while holding their hand. Rage festers beneath his skin, boiling like the acid puddles in Zone One. Jet Star is by no means a hateful person- compassion and love were instilled by his mothers, and his brother tried to stay a clean example after their deaths- but he was absolutely absorbed in loathing at that moment.

Poison numbly followed him, their eyes completely unfocused as they quickly duck out of the hotel. Jet Star led them to his bike after a brief moment of searching, and that’s when Poison seems to come back online, their hazy eyes focusing in and the fog in their mind rolling out. They choke back sobs, an obvious pressure and burning in their chest as they shake like Joshua trees in strong sand storms. 

Party Poison is practically hysterical as they get on Jet Star’s motorcycle. They are choking on their own sobs as they wrap their hands around Jet’s waist and bury their face against his back. He can feel their blood staining his jacket and the only thing driving Jet Star at this moment is pure rage and the desire to get Poison back home and far, far away from that wretched beast of a man.

Cherri Cola is dead.

“I shouldn’t have gone there,” Party Poison whispered. “I shouldn’t have gone, I was so stupid…”

“It’s okay,” Jet tries to comfort, but it just doesn’t work. They’re driving way too fast for Jet’s voice to have any meaning without yelling, and he can’t even see their face. He can’t help, not in that minute.

“Cherri’s dead… and you almost died too…” They don’t say another word after that. They just bury their head even further into the back of Jet’s neck, wrap their arms tighter around his core, and hold back grueling and heart wrenching sobs as their entire frame shakes.

Jet Star’s heart aches and burns with a deep melancholy and a burning rage.

But for now, all he can do is drive.

-

The diner is still dark when they walk in. Jet Star’s mind is racing, so many thoughts rattling his skull as he tries to think of what to do now. Treat their wounds.Treat his own burns. Try to provide comfort. Get the whole story (did Cherri get killed in front of them?). Offer something to eat?

There’s a scuttling in the corner of his eyes. He’s still in battle mode, still has adrenaline pumping through his veins, and he makes sure to pull Poison behind him as his fingers twitch towards his gun.

Ghoul pops his head up from a booth, staring at the two of them. There’s an unreadable expression stuck on his face as he sets down some wires he was trying to mold together. 

“Back so soon?” He croons. 

Jet Star rubs his face. He is not in the mood to deal with Ghoul’s antics, not when he and Poison need medical treatment, not when Ghoul is probably going to repeat the same shitty things Korse whispered to Poison.

“We were at the Paradise Hotel. Korse was there, and so was Cherri Cola, but Cherri’s dead now.” There’s more to the story, so much more, but Jet leaves it at that. Poison peeks their head over Jet’s shoulder, clearly trying to gauge Ghoul’s reaction.

“You met Korse at the Paradise Hotel?”

Ghoul’s eyes drift to Poison, moving up and down. Fresh bruises line Party Poison’s jaw and under their eyes. Their neck is red and Jet can clearly see fingerprints around their neck. There’s still that open, bleeding stab wound on their side that Jet needs to attend, and he’s sure there’s more he’s just missing. His stomach coils at Party Poison’s expression- vacant and unseeing.

“Yes,” they whisper.

“Tch,” Ghoul clicks his tongue. “Trying to go back to your master, huh?”

Poison shuts down. They shrink behind Jet Star, keeping their eyes glued to the ground. Jet Star balls up his fists, his jagged nails digging into his palms as he tries to desperately keep his composure. He has bigger fish to fry, bigger things to attend to than Ghoul’s vile attitude.

He shakes his head and begins to move towards the kitchen. Ghouls eyes follow them as Jet Star takes initiative and pulls Party Poison along. Silence echoes the diner more than the rock Poison likes to play or the metal Jet sometimes gets too wrapped up in to think about volume control.

Ghoul doesn’t follow them, but Jet can see from the bouncing of his foot and the gleam in his glare that he wants to. Now isn’t the time.

Jet pilfers through the cabinets, trying to find all of their first aid gear. It’s muscle memory as he opens each door and takes down the bandages, scraps of fabric repurposed and washed. 

They sit on the floor, bandaging each other’s wounds. Jet Star’s tenderly wrapping up the stab on their side as Poison tries to sew up the shot on his shoulder. Their hands are shaking too much to even thread the needle- they barely managed to wipe off the grime and clean up the molten flesh.

Jet Star gently places his hand over Poison’s as they struggle with the thread. Poison glances up, their eyes meeting for just one quiet moment, until Poison finally, fully breaks down.

Jet Star scoops them into a quiet hug and rubs circles in their back as they choke out quiet sobs. No tears drip down their face, no salt stains Jet’s shirt, but Jet doesn’t need physical evidence to understand what they’re doing. They’re crying as best they can, as hard as they can, sobbing into his chest. 

Jet Star doesn’t say a word. There’s nothing he can say, anyway.

-

Another shouting match takes place. Fun Ghoul and Party Poison are yelling at each other, and Kobra Kid looks five seconds away from bitch slapping Ghoul into the afterlife. 

Jet Star doesn’t know what to do. He’s just so fucking tired of all this anger, all this meaningless rage that will accomplish nothing but division. Their missions have stuttered to a grinding halt because they can’t trust each other, because all this infighting has severed their cohesion and ruined their ability to trust their back to the person behind them.

Ghoul just keeps picking these fucking fights, keeps thinning the threads of Poison’s patience. It’s like Ghoul wants to get shot, wants to be on the receiving end of Poison’s jitters and rages. 

“God, if Korse doesn’t take you back, I can’t wait to turn you into scrap metal myself!”

Jet Star doesn’t know what to do. There’s no way to de-escalate the situation, because Jet Star has tried so many times already but either just gets everyone even angrier or he just gets ignored. He needs to stop Ghoul from picking at this scab, but Ghoul won’t listen to him, to Kobra- he just won’t fucking listen.

Jet Star tries to drown out the shouting, tries to ignore the anger festering even within him. He tries to drown out the sounds of Ghoul’s screams and insults, of Kobra’s hissing and rage, of Poison’s tired pleadings. He tries to shut it all out, tries to pretend it isn’t happening for the twentieth time this week.

That’s when he finds her.

The Girl is cowering in a booth, squeezing her eyes shut and cupping her hands over her ears. She’s crying, hiccuping softly as she curls into a ball not too far away from the fight. 

Jesus Christ.

That’s it.

Jet Star pats the Girl’s head, smoothing down her cow licks and she gazes up at him with wide eyes. “Make them stop.”

“Trust me, I will.” He wipes away the tears dripping down her chubby cheeks. “I promise.” 

He gives her one more pat before moving toward the epicenter of the storm. No one even notices him as he thunders up from behind before he shoves his way in between everybody.

“That’s it!” Jet Star begins. “No more fights! No more arguing! We’re fixing this now!”

“Get out of this!” Ghoul yells.

“This will be over quick, if you let it.” 

Jet Star picks up Ghoul. It’s not hard- you don’t have to be freakishly strong to be able to do that, considering he weighs the same as a little lizard. Ghoul flails angrily, even tries to claw him, but Jet’s been living with this fucker and watching him in bar fights for years now and he knows his tricks. 

With one hand he carries Ghoul, who’s screaming the whole time as he walks, and opens up the closet in the kitchen with his other. He shoves Ghoul inside, effectively throwing him in like a sack of flour. Ghoul’s too shocked to recover quickly enough, and Jet Star grabs Party Poison and pushes them inside the closet, too.

Before either of them can try and claw their way out of the closet, Jet slams the door shut. He then leans his entire body weight on it. He’s strong, stronger than either of them and stronger than both of them. He’ll keep this door shut.

Kobra Kid is actively gaping at him. He’s got a single finger in the air as he stares, bewildered at the turn of events.

Ghoul’s screaming now.

“Listen up, you little shit.” He’s really only referring to Ghoul. “The only way I’m letting you out of this closet is after you two have a heart to heart and figure out this fucking bullshit. I’m sick and tired of hearing you two bicker and scream at each other all the time! Fix this shit!”

“Let me out!” Ghoul screams. “You can’t fucking do this!”

“Watch me!” Jet sighs, lowering his voice. “You made the Girl cry with all your fighting.”

Ghoul stops clawing at the doorknob. A silence echoes through the diner, broken only by the Girl’s sniffling. Jet Star hasn’t heard it this quiet since he found the place, nearly four years ago.

“You’re not getting a single word out of me,” Ghoul finally growls. He hears a clang, imagining Ghoul’s knocked over a couple of buckets before a loud plop is heard. He’s probably sitting down, arms crossed and pouting.

“Jet Star,” Poison tries. “Dude, Ghoul’s going to end up strangling me in my sleep. Let me out.”

“Sorry, but you guys need to fix this.” He does feel a bit sorry, but this has to be done. It kind of reminds him of when they had locked up Cherri during his withdrawals. He shakes that thought out as quickly as it entered.

-

In all honesty, Jet didn’t think this was going to get fixed quickly at all. And it wasn’t. By the end of the day, Ghoul still hadn’t said a word. He can hear Party Poison still rustling around, pacing anxiously as time keeps moving and Ghoul’s mouth stopped running. 

“You gotta go into sleep mode,” Kobra finally says. Absolutely no progress has been made. This is actually better than Jet expected. He figured they’d be at each other’s throats. “We can’t drain your battery, man.”

Party Poison stops pacing around. Ghoul remains silent. Jet knows Poison’s always anxious when trying to sleep- they’re awful when they camp out of the diner on the roadside or even in Dr. D’s shack. And being in this stressful situation isn’t exactly making them want to power off and leave them self exposed. When pornodroids shut off, they shut off until either their internal timer goes off or someone manually wakes them.

Huh. Must be why Kobra Kid always went to wake up Poison and why they shared the same room, to hide that Party Poison literally shuts down.

Party Poison keeps pacing. Kobra sighs and rubs his eyes. “Poison.”

“Stop fucking pacing around. I’m trying to sleep.” Ghoul knocks his head against the door and curses. 

“I’d rather drain my battery, thanks,” Poison says, dry lily.

“I’d rather not have another sibling of mine die, thanks.”

That shuts up Poison. There’s a bit of guilt in Kobra’s eyes, for guilting Poison, but Kobra doesn’t apologize. Jet keeps his body weight against the door and Kobra keeps himself flat against it as well.

It takes a few minutes, but Poison’s pacing stops. If Jet strains his ears, he can hear the faintest if electric murmurs. They must’ve shut off.

Kobra sighs in relief. Jet Star wonders how the two of them managed to sneak batteries for the past two years, taking them in and putting them in as well as disposing them, but he doesn’t ask.

-

Ghoul stops being silent in the morning. This surprises no one, because Ghoul is horrible at keeping his mouth shut. 

“Let me out!” Ghoul shouts. “I’m fuckin’ hungry!”

“Kiss and make up!” Jet yells back.

“I can’t believe you locked me in here with a fucking drone! If it kills me, my death is just as on you as it is on my BLi!”

“Don’t call me an it!”

“It’s gonna kill us all, just you wait.”

“Shut the fuck up!”

There’s scuffling. He hears a bang- something hit the wall. “See!? It’s trying to kill me now!”

“ _You_ punched _me_!”

“God, you fucking liar! Wonder how many times you lied to us so you could go behind our backs and talk to Korse?”

“Stop being such an insufferable prick!”

“It’s in my nature, just like it’s in yours to be a servant to your master, huh?”

There’s more scuffling. He can hear the shelves rattle as more bangs fill the air. Kobra and him share a look but don’t open the door. The sounds of bones cracking and skin being hit rings clear as day. There’s an all out brawl happening now.

There’s a loud crack, like the sound of wood splintering. A huge crash sounds off later, followed by intense cursing from both parties. Sounds like they managed to break a shelf.

“Why can’t I be human, god fucking damn it?! I was your friend before all this! Ghoul, I just want to go back and be your friend!”

“Your kind are drones from BLi! You’re made to serve, you don’t understand the concept of friends! All you can do is take orders and fulfill them without any moral consequences or feelings!”

“Why do you hate me- hate us- so fucking much? What did I ever do to you?! What did we do?!”

“You killed my fucking parents, you murder machine!”

There’s a pause. Jet Star peeks his eyes through the crack between the door and the door frame. Ghoul’s lying flat on his back, a nasty cut on his head bleeding. Poison’s nose is dripping some blood, but their attention is focused solely on Ghoul.

“What?”

“My parents died because of you fucking drones!” Ghoul’s voice is shaking despite the anger. “You know what happened? You wanna know why I hate your guts? Because you guys started this fucking mess!”

Ghoul’s getting up, staggering to his feet as he speaks. “I was six years old! My parents were travelling when we came across a droid in the middle of the desert. She made up all this rubbish about how she had just escaped from the city, and how she’s lost and has no where to go, and my parents bought it. They believed here, and they were just about to offer her a ride to the nearest settlement of droids when she took out her ghoster and shot both my parents, right in the fucking heart, right in front of me.”

Ghoul’s leaning into Poison’s space. Even though Ghoul is shorter by a few inches, it almost feels as if he’s looming over them. “I was nearly six. I just watched my parents get assassinated right in front of me. I watched her call in her back up and call in BLi to tell them she found the killjoys and she took ‘em down and…”

Ghoul sucked in a deep breath. “You’re made by those people, your whole job in life is to be submissive. You’re made to follow orders, and if Korse gives you the clear to start shooting, then I’m going to end up just like them! Shot to death for trusting the wrong person!”

Ghoul grabs their wrist and yanks them closer. Poison’s eyes narrow and they try to yank their arm back, but Ghoul keeps a tight hold. “Don’t touch me.”

“It’s all your guys’ fault everything went to shit! My parents died, and that fucked up everything! Cherri turned into an addict with grief, Dr. D became obsessed with recreating the Killjoys, and Kobra’s brother probably got fucking killed! If my parents hadn’t fucking died, then maybe none of this would have happened! Maybe Cherri Cola and Dr. D would be okay, and Kid’s brother would be safe, and BLi could have been brought to its knees decades earlier!”

Ghouls voice cracks. “And maybe they wouldn’t have won! Maybe none of that would have happened! But at least I’d still have my parents! At least they all could have died together!”

Poison is quiet for a moment, watching as Ghoul dissolves into silent tears. They place a hand on Ghoul’s shoulder, and Jet can see the feelings in their eyes. Always had a bleeding heart, and never could stop their empathy no matter who.

“I’m sorry,” Poison finally whispers. “But this doesn’t excuse anything. Not all pornodroids are like the one that killed your parents. You can’t make these generalizations. Humans work within BLi, humans try to kill us every day of our lives, but you don’t see me raising a fuss about that.”

Poison tries to lower themself to the ground and Ghoul quietly follows. They’re sitting on their knees, and the only sound for miles is Ghoulms haggard breathing. “Some droids just can’t stop their nature. Some droids refuse to overcome their wiring, refuse to use the emotions they were given to help them see right from wrong. And that’s on them. There are bad droids out there- I’ve met some, too. But there are good ones, so many good ones who just want to help, who just want to live a new life, who just want to live.”

Poison tenderly rubs Ghoul’s knuckles. “Shouldn’t you celebrate those who manage to overcome their nature? Who become something more than what they were created to be? Instead of shunning them for what they were, for the wires in their skin and their mechanical heart?”

Ghoul just sniffles quietly. “It hurts. I can’t say I completely understand, because I don’t have parents. But I do have a family, Ghoul, and that still includes you. I don’t know what I’d do if you were all ghosted right in front of me. But by human or droid hands, it doesn’t mean that everyone is evil.

“I don’t want to fight anymore, Ghoul.” Poison sounds so tired. “Please, I don’t want to hurt you. I don’t want to go back to BLi, I don’t want to be their little submissive toy. I just wanna be your sibling again.”

Silence passes between them. Jet glances back at Kobra Kid, who’s holding the Girl in his lap. His head is buried in her hair, but Jet can see the tears threatening to spill from his eyes. The Girl remains quiet, just listening. She knows this is important.

Jet Star turns back to Ghoul and Poison.

“It stung.” Ghoul’s voice trembles. “I just, my parents died so young, and I remember that. I remember how they got shot right in front of me. I remember the pornodroid they were trying to help, and I remember her eyes as she shot my parents dead. Empty.”

“I remember you.” Ghoul coughs, and Jet sees the tilt of Party Poison’s head. “I guess, well, not you-you. Kobra’s brother. I remember him. He was like this cool older brother who always listened to me and hung out with me. I saw him a lot, you know, because my parents were in the same gang as him, and for two years we were all kind of this little family, just me, my parents, Dr. D, Cherri, and Kobra’s brother. I saw him the day before he disappeared, I was six. I remember him, I remember watching him walk off into the desert with his mask on and his gun tight. I remember mourning him when Dr. D told me he was gone, because he was like a brother to me, too, and I…”

Ghoul’s voice stutters to a stop. He is crying fully now, not wailing but choking on his own tears. Poison listens and waits, their attention fully on Ghoul as he whispers his story.

“I didn’t recognise you, you know. But then Kobra Kid told us that you were based off his brother, and that brother was in the same gang as my parents, and I see it now. And it hurt to see you wear his face, a face that’s blurred in my memory, but I see all of him in you and it just…. it hurts.”

Ghoul pulls Poison into a hug. Ghoul grips them tight, and Poison unflinchingly holds him right back. “You’re not him, I know, but god, it’s like staring at a ghost. And it just, it was a reminder, a reminder of all the people that keep getting lost in this fucking war, and I just… you didn’t deserve that. You’re not him. You’re not gonna end up like him.”

Ghoul leans back, staring Poison in the face. “I fucked up, Poison. And I know you’re not gonna trust me as well as you used to, and I’m probably still gonna be a bit of an asshole to you, ‘cause old thoughts die hard and all, but I promise you, Party Poison, I fucking promise you, I’m not gonna let what happened to my parents or Cherri or Kobra’s brother or anyone else happen to you. I’m not making this mistake twice.”

Ghoul holds up a pinky, and Party Poison smiles softly as they lock theirs with his. “I’m not gonna let you go, man. All that shit I said was stupid and wrong. Because you might not be him, but you’re still Kobra’s sibling. You’re still my sibling. You’re still a part of this family, man.”

Party Poison doesn’t cry; not a single tear slides down their face. But the glitter in their eyes says all that their actions can not.

-

It’s not a perfect fix. It can’t be, really. They’ve spent too much time arguing, too much time yelling insults that, in that moment, they meant with all their hearts. Trust is earned, and when broken, it’s terribly hard to piece back together.

But it’s better, now.

They’re not yelling or screaming at each other, Ghoul isn’t repeating the same things Jet heard from Korse’s mouth. They’re acting like friends, like siblings, as well as they can as they try to mend the broken bridges.

They’re trying, desperately. It’s all Jet can ask for.

-

The Girl turns six.

Jet Star hates to say it, but damn. They’re lucky the Girl has managed to survive for this long with a bunch of trigger happy, accident prone teenagers. None of them know how to take care of children- sure, they all like children, but none of them had ever seen a baby before.

But hurray, hurray, the kid lived another day.

Jet sometimes forgets that they’ve had the kid for two years. Sometimes, it feels like they just added her into the family and are trying to readjust to having this kid to take care of. But most of the time, it feels like they’ve had her forever, that she’s always been their kid sister.

They manage to scrounge up a couple of gifts, some meagre offerings that they know she’ll appreciate. She never complains about the things they’ve given her before, never whines that she doesn’t like it or asks for something expensive. It kinda saddens Jet that she understands the precarious nature of their lives, that resources are thin and that this is all they can give her.

They offer her a pair of overalls, a few rusty butterfly barrettes, a couple of not necessarily pristine but certainly not snapped in half crayons, and a bit of newspaper to draw on. It’s not much, certainly not what she deserves, but it’s all they can get.

They dig into the candy Newsagogo managed to scrounge up, and the Girl manages to have a good time despite all their inabilities to provide. She smiles and laughs as they bring up stories from when she was younger, like when Ghoul nearly blew her up and the time she and Kobra drew all over Jet during a nap.

The Girl’s attention wavers, though, and she finds herself glancing at Poison. Poison glances back, and she bluntly asks the question that’s clearly been on her mind. “I know you’re like…. a robot… but do you have a birthday?”

Poison blinks. Jet Star rubs his head. Huh, now that he thinks about it, they never have celebrated their birthday before. They usually only celebrate the Girl’s, since they usually don’t have the luck nor the money to have a good, actual celebration. But they will still wish each other a good birthday, still try to find something to give with team effort.

Poison leans on their hand, a thoughtful expression. “You know what, kid? I never thought about that before. I guess I don’t have one.”

The Girl’s expression darkened just for a moment, like she was sad for them. Suddenly, her eyes lit up. “Hey, grant me one more birthday wish! Quick!”

Kobra rapped her shoulders like he was knighting her. “Ask and ye shall hopefully receive.”

“Let me pick out a birthday for you!” She pleads, clasping her hands together and putting on her best puppy eyes, mimicking Show Pony, who’s always begging for favours. 

Poison just smiles. “It’s all yours!”

A smile lights up her entire face as she taps her chin. “Oh man, it’s gotta be perfect!”

Ghoul’s expression begins to match the Girl’s, thoughtful as he glances at Poison. “Actually, hey, I got a question. When were you made?”

Party Poison hums, appearing just as thoughtful. “Just under six years ago.”

Ghoul smirks. “Looks like the youngest killjoy title doesn’t go to the Girl anymore.”

Poison sputters as Kobra Kid ruffles their hair. “Aw! Guess I’m not the baby in our sibling relationship, baby sibling!”

“Hey! Wait! I’m physically, like, 20! I’m still older than all of you!”

“Stop being such a baby,” Jet teases.

“I’ve got it!” The Girl stands up from her seat on the ground. She points a finger at Poison as she christens them with a birthday. “March 22!”

It’s early December right now. Jet Star’s own birthday is a few days away. 

Poison snaps their fingers. “I like it!”

“Why that specific date?” Kobra inquires.

“Well, Ghoul’s birthday is in the fall, yours is in the summer, and Jet and mine’s is in the winter. Gotta even it out with a spring birthday!” She nods to herself. “And they just kinda seem like a March person. And I thought 22 was a cool number, ‘cause of that phrase Cherri always used- catch 22!”

Party Poison pulls the Girl into their lap in a sort of hug. She giggles as they ruffle her hair. “I love it, Girlie!”

Jet Star smiles.

-

Time moves on. They pass through winter, spring, and summer with ease. BLi is becoming more and more frantic in their extermination efforts of the Fab Four- more and more fire fights keep breaking out. The list of desert dweller casualties keeps climbing.

But they keep thriving.

Every clap they face, every exterminator they slay, every Drac that gets crushed under their foot- it just makes them stronger. It just gives them more recognition in the eyes of the people, it just stirs up more hope for the people. It makes them look invincible, that BLi can’t touch them, that the rule of the Fab Four will reign forever.

Of course, immortality was never meant to last, nor meant to mean never dying.

-

October, 2019.

Everything goes to shit.

It’s a simple day, an easy day. Ghoul’s eighteenth birthday is coming up, and they’re trying to figure out a way to celebrate like they did for the Kobra Kid. Jet Star’s 20th is coming up, and he knows those assholes he calls family is plotting something, too.

They spend their day driving around the zones, having fun.

Korse shows up, but that doesn’t shake them. He’s always showing up out of the blue, always chasing them until they manage to shake him off or kill too many of his subordinates.

But it’s not routine, it’s not the same as all the other times. It wasn’t play time any more, Korse wasn’t just fooling around with them.

They didn’t suspect a thing until they were all lined up across from each other. It’s only then, when Jet Star finds himself facing down a Drac, and Poison’s staring down Korse, and they’re all drawing their guns, itching for an old west style shoot out, does Jet understand the severity of this situation.

Music pumps from the Girl’s radio, steady in the lull of the moment.

There’s not a signal, really. Instinct takes over, and everyone pulls the trigger at the same time.

A burn scalds Jet Star. He doesn’t register much except a pain, a raging fire consuming his face.

His vision quickly goes black. He doesn’t see the rest of his comrades fall down in succession with him, like dominos.

-

He opens his eyes.

Well, one of them. He can’t open the other one, not without intense pain. So he keeps that closed as he tries to adjust, tries to figure out what’s happening, what happened, and what he should do.

Jet Star’s barely even conscious, drifting in and out, in and out. But he forces himself to stay awake because he has no choice. If he wants to live, then he can’t fall asleep no matter how tempting.

There’s rustling to his left. Jet Star shifts very minutely to see the cause.

It’s Party Poison.

Party Poison stands. Everything about them is off, and Jet Star’s sure something happened to their wiring. They’re shaking like crazy, their left leg seems strangely stiff, and their fingers keep sporadically twitching as they face Korse down the barrel of their gun. Despite all their malfunctions, there’s a determined gleam in their eyes.

And that’s when everything hits Jet. He sees the Dracs shove the Girl into their van, sees Korse grinning as the Girl’s screaming suddenly cuts off. They lost. They lost, they lost the Girl, they _lost_.

A shot rings out along with the singe of electricity.

Jet’s attention splits. Poison’s hands are shaking feverently, a sight Jet hasn’t seen since their first encounter with Korse, nearly four years ago. Smoke pours from their gun, which finally clatters to the ground as Poison drops to their knees. He can hear their breathing, strained and infrequent as they struggle to stay upright, to stay awake and alive. To fight.

Korse wipes the blood from the wound on his shoulder. Party Poison still managed to hit him, a miracle granted from the Witch considering the distance and their frayed electrical wires. 

He feels more than sees Korse make his way to the fallen killjoys. Unconsciousness is tugging him down like an anchor. Jet’s vision tilts and goes black as he struggles to keep awake, to stay alive.

It clears up, still a bit blurry, as Korse enters his line of vision. He’s nearly right in front of Poison, who isn’t making a move to run or bolt. They just sit there, waiting, anger in their eyes as they try to keep their hands from shaking. He sees the blood spilling from their mouth, sees the blood dripping from a wound clearly where their heart should be, and can’t help but wonder what sort of thread Poison’s able to hang on to for them to still be awake and alive and moving.

Korse crouches down to meet Poison. Poison doesn’t squirm under his gaze, doesn’t move back and keeps their ground, keeps their head up high and their eyes defiant.

Korse cups their cheeks in a way that’s so tender it almost seems lovingly. Party Poison flinches hard at the touch, but Korse doesn’t care. He keeps his hands on their face and begins to caress them with a touch that looks feathery and wispy.

“Oh darling,” he croons, and Party Poison stares up at the man with such a potent expression Jet Star can almost see the fires in their eyes. “You’re mine, you know?”

“Fuck off!” Poison twists in Korse’s hold and snarls. They nearly try to bite Korse’s wrist, but Korse is quicker. He wraps his hand in their hair and yanks, causing Poison to stop. He pulls them forward, their faces inches apart, one hand in their hair and one still touching their cheeks.

“It’s time to come home.” 

“I’d rather die than ever be with you again. I’m not yours.” Poison spits on him, their saliva and blood sticking to Korse’s cheek. “You can’t fucking have me.”

Korse smiles at that, and Jet notices his hand dropping from their hair to hover over his blaster. Poison just stares at him, glaring as Korse keeps stroking their cheek.

“If I can’t have you, then no one can.”

Suddenly, Korse whips his gun from his holster. Korse steps on Poison’s forgotten gun as he stands back up. 

Jet’s voice doesn’t work, and he can’t scream, but he nearly does as he watches Korse pull the trigger in rapid fire succession. Poison collapses to the ground, their neck and head covered in bullet holes, their brains bleeding out on the floor.

Korse smiles at the sight. “Don’t worry, love. Once the Dracs come to collect your bodies, you’ll get reprogrammed. You won’t even remember your friends or their charred bodies.”

Jet Star begins to cry painful, hot tears as his vision swims. It turns black almost sharply, but Korse’s predatory grin and Poison’s corpse haunt him even when he slips into unconsciousness.

-

“Ah, so you’re all here.”

Feathers float about them. Them?

Jet Star shakes himself. His eye doesn’t even hurt. In fact, he kind of feels weirdly numb.

Ghoul and Kobra stand next to him. Jet Star takes a moment to absorb the situation, trying to make sense of where he’s at and what’s happening. 

They’re still in the desert, at the exact same place Korse exterminated them at. He knows this because he can clearly see Ghoul and Kobra’s charred corpses laying on the sandy ground. Poison remains just as motionless, and, oh god. That’s Jet Star’s body next to theirs.

Jet Star stares at his body. His eye was shot, blood caking his wound like a scab. So that’s why he couldn’t see out of it, why it was so painful. Holy shit.

He swallows down his vomit and glances back at his comrades. Kobra Kid is jittery, his hands on his gun, looking ready to fire at any moment. Ghoul is staring at something right in front of them, so Jet moves his head to stare at it, too.

The Phoenix Witch stares right back.

“Holy shit,” Jet mutters, and actually takes half a step back. 

“You’re telling me,” Ghoul mumbles. “Guess I owe Show Pony some carbons- that bastard did see Her.”

The Witch leans against Her shopping cart, appearing amused at the children before Her. “My, my. It’s lovely to meet all of you again, though you’re here just a bit too soon.”

“Where’s Party Poison?” Kobra growls out. His eyes aren’t even on the Witch- they’re glued to Party Poison’s limp body.

Oh. Jet didn’t even notice that Party Poison was missing. God, this is so fucking weird.

“Don’t worry, they’re safe and sound with an old friend of mine. Does the name Destroya ring a bell?” She wears a mask, but he can imagine Her smile. “They are a droid, after all. They don’t belong in my domain. They’re probably chatting up Destroya right now, or rather, flirting.”

“Your domain…” Ghoul trails off, quiet. “We’re dead?”

“For now.” She hums noncommittally. “Would you like to stay that way?”

“Of course not!” Jet cries. “We have to go save the Girl! We all do!”

“Yes, she is quite special.” The Witch tilts Her head, and it reminds Jet of Party Poison, oddly enough. “I can’t let her life be wasted simply because you want a rest. She has a destiny to fulfill, one much greater than your own. I suppose I’ll let you go now- you all have quite a bit of planning to do.”

She rummages around in Her shopping cart before pulling out three domino masks. They aren’t what Jet and Ghoul and Kobra has died in- Jet was wearing his space helmet, Ghoul his Frankenstein mask, and Kobra his motorcycle helmet. But long ago, when they first all found each other, they had made a domino mask each to use for when any of them get dusted, so there will be something for the Witch to pick up in the mailbox when they all get ghosted.

She hands the masks to each of them, Her mask reflecting nothing of what She was thinking. “Well, off you go now, kiddos. You all have quite the destiny to fulfill, too.”

“Wait.”

Kobra Kid stares at the mask in his hand. “This whole… afterlife. Like you said, Party’s a droid. When we… when we all die, will we still be able to like, be with them? Since they’re a droid and fall under Destroya’s domain?”

She smiles. He can’t see it, but he can feel it, he can sense it. “Destroya and I only separate souls based on flesh when we guide them to the afterlife, not when they get into the afterlife. Trust me, you don’t have to worry.”

She points Her crow clawed finger at their bodies, and they all turn to look. “Wherever you go, they’ll follow. And wherever they go, you’ll follow. It’s just a matter of time.”

Jet Star looks back, wanting to ask more questions, but the Witch has disappeared.

-

Jet Star opens an eye.

Pain shoots through his entire body, and he feels like he’s on fire. He’s vaguely aware of all the shifting around him, all the bodies moving beside him. He stays stock still, trying to tamp down the urge to scream.

“Jet! Jet!” Ghoul’s face hovers over him, like an angel with the sun’s glow. Jet does not like the idea of Ghoul being an angel nor his guiding light into the afterlife, so he forces himself to stay awake. “Oh, shit man!”

Kobra leans over him and grimaces. “That eye is toasted.”

“Yeah. I’ll just need stitches for mine.” Jet notices a scorch across Ghoul’s cheek. Kobra Kid has some burns on his sides. Drac’s sure do have bad aim.

“Party Poison’ll have to treat that. None of us have steady enough hands or medical knowledge.”

A pause.

“Party Poison!”

Kobra and Ghoul scramble off Jet, and Jet tries to turn his body around. Poison’s still laying on the ground, completely motionless.

“Oh, fuck!” Kobra moans. “They look like scrap metal.”

Ghoul shakes Party Poison a bit, clearly nervous. “Come on! The Witch said you’d be fine! Come on!”

Jet Star reaches over, desperately wanting to help. His hand manges to brush against Poison’s, and he latches on, locking their fingers together. Poison really does look like shit. “Come on, Poison. Wake up.”

Kobra Kid rolls up his jacket sleeves. Before anyone can react, he slaps Poison’s head so hard it flip flops onto their other cheek.

Party Poison practically jumps awake, their eyes bulging as they jolt upward. “Holy fuck, guys.” They wince. 

“Guys, did we all just meet god, or was that a hallucination on my part?” Ghoul finally asks.

“I think I met a different god than you, but yeah.” Poison grins, lopsided. “My god’s hotter.”

Kobra rolls his eyes. “Come on, we can’t stay here lying in our graves. A Drac patrol is likely coming here soon to collect our bodies. We gotta dip.”

-

The next month is honestly a blur.

They reconvene at their diner, trying to salvage what they can. Kobra fixes up Party Poison, stops them from short circuiting like they did during Korse’s confrontation, and Party Poison fixes up Jet Star. The operation was only as successful as it could be- Poison had to pull out his whole fucking eye. They didn't have the time to get Jet to the Oblivion Hotel, so Poison had to do the entire thing as best they could.

Jet wears an eye patch now. It’s totally fine. Ghoul says he looks like a badass pirate. Could have been worse.

Either way, Jet spends most of his time trying to relearn his depth perception as the others try to get more supplies. They’re going to launch a full fledged rescue for the Girl, but as much as they’d like to go in there and let their rage drive them, they know they can’t possibly do that and actually save the Girl. They need to plan, just a little.

So they stock up on supplies until Show Pony manages to snag them some information on where the Girl is at. And of course, she’s located in the headquarters right smack in the middle of Battery City, because BLi knows she’s special, just like The Witch warned them.

-

“Don’t be stupid,” Dr. D warns them. He’s angry, Jet can see, even with his missing eye. He’s absolutely enraged, but he’s not sure if he’s angry at them or not. “You can’t possibly pull off a mission of that scale. Kids, you’re smart and you all have a quick trigger finger, but those things won’t save you.”

“No.” Poison takes the map from Show Pony, whose expression is one of solemn concession. “It won’t. But it will save the Girl.”

“Don’t waste your lives for one Girl. You’re just kids, too. If you go on this mission, you will all die.” Dr. D is pleading with them now. “Do you understand that this is a suicide mission? BLi will gun you all down in no time. You won’t survive.”

“The only person whose survival matters is the Girl,” Kobra soberly states. 

“Remember what you taught us?” Jet begins. “The future is bulletproof, the aftermath is secondary. The Girl is our future- we’re the aftermath.”

“I don’t give a damn how special the Girl is. The Witch Herself could ascend from hell and tell me that she’s the next messiah and I don’t fucking care. If you throw away your lives, you’re throwing away all your potential. Who knows, maybe you four are the destined saviors of the zones. Maybe you could take down BLi, could end their reign of tyranny in maybe even a couple of months. But you can’t do that, you can’t find out what future you guys hold if you’re too fucking dead.”

Poison places a hand on Dr. D’s shoulder. “Doc, you won’t be able to dissuade us. The Girl is our future, she’s our hope. I know that she’s going to be the one who saves us all. And maybe we're throwing away our lives, maybe we are dying too young and too recklessly…”

Poison bends down to be eye to eye with Dr. D. “But that’s okay. Because we’re not dying a meaningless death. We’re going to save the Girl. And even if all of us die, if it costs all four of our lives, we’ll be at peace with that. She’s worth everything we have, Doc, and all we have is our souls.”

Dr. D remains silent, his expression one now of grief. He’s already mourning them, Jet knows, probably writing their obituary in his head. 

Party Poison pats his shoulder before squeezing it. “I know we keep asking you for favours, but can you do us one more thing?”

“What?”

“Please, be our escape ride. Call up Hot Chimp and Newsagogo, get them to help us. You don’t have to fight. Just, in case something happens while we’re getting the Girl out, just make sure she’ll get out and stay safe.” Party Poison wraps their hands around Dr. D’s. “Please. Make sure the Girl survives if we don’t.”

Dr. D takes a very long breath. Jet knows what he’s thinking because he’s known him since he was eleven, knew him even further back from stories his mothers would share. He was there for him when his brother died, picked up the pieces of him after all his gangs died out too. And he knows that Dr. D won’t deny the wishes of a dying man.

“Since you’re so set on killing yourselves,” Dr. D begins, his voice soft, “I’ll make sure you won’t die in vain. I promise.”

Poison smiles, softly. “Thank you, old friend.”

-

They invade Battery City. Everyone knows this story, the story of four troubled teens who move mountains to save their little sister. 

Everyone knows what happens.

In all honesty, even they knew what would happen. There’s just so many Dracs, so many exterminators, so many BLi people there, their chances were slim to none. There was no way they were going to live through this, and none of them kidded themselves into thinking that they would.

They pull the Girl from her cells, Party Poison hugging her tightly before the gang tries to snake their way out of the headquarters. A swarm of Dracs arrive, and their destiny is sealed. Because they all get caught up in their fighting and get seperated, focused on surviving.

And then, a shot rings out.

Something’s different, heavier. In a battle field of gunshots, it shouldn’t have mattered. But in that moment, Jet knew he had to look no matter how badly it would cost him.

Korse has pinned Party Poison against the wall, a Drac’s corpse laying near their feet and, oh god, he knows that face. Cherri Cola lays splayed out on the floor, eyes staring into the ceiling, a shot in the chest generating blood that stains his white uniform. BLi Draced him. 

There’s so much to unpack that Jet has to avert his eyes from that corpse and glance at the other. He doesn’t have time to mourn Cherri Cola- that shot wasn’t for him.

Party Poison sinks to the floor, their neck dripping out blood like a waterfall. It’s almost hard to tell where hair starts and where blood begins, the bright red nearly distracting from their gushing wound.

Party Poison keeps their head up just for a moment, reaches out their hand, shaky and weak in their dying breaths, and whispers out something with their very last breath that only the Girl can hear. But Jet can read lips: “Run.”

Their hair hides their face until they slump all the way backwards. Jet needs to heed their warning, needs to fucking move instead of just standing there like an idiot, wasting their precious time but all he can do it stare at Party Poison’s corpse, at their face, because the impossible just happened.

Party Poison’s dead.

He can hear Kobra screaming in the background, can hear the sounds of frantic gunshots go off. But his eyes are only on Poison’s face, splattered in blood and…

Something shiny slips down their cheeks, wet and slippery before hitting the ground. It’s a tiny drop, and not more follow suit, and Jet can’t look away from their corpses, their fucking corpse because, because-

Party Poison just cried.

He dives back into the fight, because he has to. He has to finish what he’s started, he has to make sure they don’t die in fucking vain. He sees Kobra’s body, sees his twisted form on the ground, sees the blood pooling around him in a slick and dark puddle, and even sees his own reflection in the red stained tiles.

He and Ghoul rush towards the exit with the Girl, who’s still trying to stare at Poison’s body, trying to understand all that’s happening, all the carnage being wrecked. 

And then Ghoul whispers in his ear, “Save yourself, I’ll hold them back,” and Jet knows, _knows_ that it’s over before he even glances behind to see Ghoul has closed the doors behind him and is facing off the Dracs to buy Jet and the Girl some time.

And Jet knows before he gets shot that he's not going to get to live with the Girl, that he’s not going to magically and miraculously escape with the Girl, because he remembers the Witch’s words: “Wherever you go, they’ll follow. And wherever they go, you’ll follow. It’s just a matter of time.”

And really, Jet wouldn’t have it any other way.

So Jet gets shot to death, sprawled across the trans am’s hood, and in his dying breaths, he finds himself at peace. The Girl will live on and she’ll destroy BLi and she’ll prove how special and important she is. And Jet Star will follow Party Poison, just like he did that dusty day nearly four years ago, when he followed them out of the nightclub and then followed them to find the half-dead Kobra Kid.

Jet Star dies, not quietly and not peacefully, but he does so without regret.

(Twelve years later, when the Girl figures out her destiny and saves everyone just like they knew she would, when she liberates all the ghosts from the hellhole that is Battery City, she saves them, too. 

Jet Star finds himself in the afterlife, finds his siblings smiling down on him. Party Poison’s hand is outstretched, waiting for him to grab hold. He can’t see any one's faces, the sun over head drowning out their heads but casting about a gold halo. Poison’s hair looks like fire, just like it did in that club, all those years ago.

“Will you follow me?” Poison whispers.

“Always.”

Jet Star takes their hand. Tears slips down Poison’s cheeks, happy tears as they hold hands, as Poison begins to guide him. 

“Let’s sleep for days.”)

**Author's Note:**

> this story literally got inspired from the song ‘one day robots will cry’ by cobra starship. 
> 
> technically, this story only follows the video timeline, but i can make the argument that it follows the comic timeline, too, but that’ll take too many words and u probably don’t want to read that
> 
> i was able to finally read the comics like halfway through writing this so like, i actually kind of like Korse now, but oh well
> 
> not to date this fic or anything but i got quarantined!!! so this means I had a shit ton of time to write and that’s why this fic became a 30000 word monstrosity!!!
> 
> I FUCKIBG love Cherri Cola and I think he deserves so much fucking more than what he got thank u for ur time


End file.
